


Harbingers of Beatrice

by HollyDB



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Claiming Bites, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Rescue Missions, Sexual Violence, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-10-19 18:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 52
Words: 230,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10645551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyDB/pseuds/HollyDB
Summary: Wolfram and Hart attempt to restructure the Order of Aurelius, one vampire at a time. A soul hampers one, a chip the other, and a Slayer stands between them.





	1. Dream a Little Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,
> 
> This story was originally written in 2004 when I was 19 years old. It was one of my first in the BtVS fandom, and it was written at a time when I was still finding my writing voice. One of the most common critiques I receive for this work (and other fics written around this era) is the misuse of words. It is an absolutely fair criticism. I did misuse a lot of freaking words. What initial readers read was a teen trying to sound older than she was. Like a lot of young writers, I thought people wouldn't take me seriously as an author if they knew how young I was, so I tried to hide it. And yes, in some cases, I just didn't know better, but try telling that to a teenager.
> 
> Fast forward thirteen years. I am now a professional editor (currently freelance, but previously with Samhain Publishing) and an author of paranormal/contemporary romance. My love of Buffy/fanfic was reenergized with the 20th anniversary. I'm getting back into fandom now and one of my projects is going to be giving my backlist of Buffy fanfic a good edit. At this time, I do not intend to change the stories themselves; I'd just like them to be readable. From what I've edited of this story so far...well, 19-year-old me really liked convoluted sentences on top of the wrong word choice. I apparently set out to make reading this story as difficult as possible.
> 
> All that said, this story may be familiar to some and new to others. I will be posting chapters as they are edited, and have currently averaged around one chapter a day. There may be typographical errors (frequently occur with heavy edits/rewrites) but even if those are present, I am confident the polished version of this story will read better than the original. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy.

Angel dreamed.

A vast array of images, shapes, and colors blurred into one distorted picture of fragmented reality. And all through it, she was there. There to laugh and mock. There to remind him of what he wanted. She was his lone consistency in his inconsistent world.

It would feel to give in. And he wanted to.

But he wouldn’t. He was a champion. And that was the way things were.

Angel dreamed.

*~*~*

Buffy dreamed.

There was nothing distinct or particularly memorable about what she saw, yet dreams could never be taken lightly.

She saw monsters, blood, and fangs. She saw herself running through corridors without end. She saw a great grandfather clock that announced its hours with ethereal chimes. She saw her sister—a sister? She didn’t have one of those. Wasn’t _supposed_ to have a sister. It wasn’t right.

Dawn. Not real. She wasn’t real. She never had been.

Only she was. And she was the Key. She was what stood between now and eternity. Dawn’s survival, her protection, was what the world—what the universe—depended on for continued existence. She was real. She was Buffy’s sister. She was Dawn.

The ticking would not end.

 _Beat the clock._ That was what life had amounted to. _Beat the clock._ Racing down endless hallways, knowing despite how fast she ran, she would always be too late. Nothing could change that. _Nothing_.

The ticking would not end.

Buffy dreamed.

*~*~*

Spike dreamed.

And the dream was always the same.

He saw what he had become. Wanting, desiring, craving the enemy. The thing that would always be just outside his reach.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Not for him. The chip couldn’t change who he was. He felt it with every drive. What he always had been, in some regard or another, what always would be. The monster.

He had killed. He wished he still could. He had torn the still-beating heart of many a virgin. He had stalked the shadows. For over a century, he had torn the world apart, and enjoyed every minute of it.

And here he was. Going against his own nature. Everything he had always believed himself to be. A slayer of slayers. A vampire of his own creation. A demon. A monster. A creature of the night.

He was a being of evil, and yet with every minute he suffered, he wanted her. Saw her. Bloody well _needed_ her.

Needed the _Slayer._

Perversion in the worst form of the word.

He would never have what he wanted because it was wrong.

It didn’t mean the dreams would stop.

Because of her.

The Slayer.

 _Buffy_.

Spike dreamed.


	2. The City that Slept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of the dialog from this chapter is from the episode _Reunion_ from Angel Season 2.

The changes began a week ago. Changes that had initially been small enough to escape notice, but weren’t small anymore. Oh no.

He claimed he was fine. He claimed his associates were driving him up the wall. He claimed he didn’t need help.

He was wrong. He knew it. They knew it. Nothing, however, could be done. The baby steps were over, the warning phase had passed. Talk of intervention came to a screeching halt because Angel couldn’t be intervened. Not now. Not anymore. He simply didn’t care now and couldn’t pretend otherwise.

He pictured them—Cordelia, Wesley, and Gunn—seated uncomfortably in the Hyperion lobby, flipping through books that did little more than pass the time. Waiting for him. Waiting for an update. Waiting until he broke.

It was slow. It was tedious. And it was doing nothing but mount tension to already-uncomfortable levels.

And the city of Los Angeles slept. The city allowed evil to fester and brew when he could not. The city looked the other way and he could not.

If he allowed himself to act like the city, the city would suffer. And despite all its shortcomings, he couldn’t allow that.

So here he was, smashing through the top story window of the law offices of Wolfram and Hart.

The group of lawyers inside Lindsey McDonald’s office barely blinked. It didn’t matter—surprise wasn’t the objective. Angel saw his query and moved, not interested in the squabbling around him. In two seconds flat, he had Lindsey by the scruff of the collar and was an instant away from tearing off the bastard’s head.

“Dru and Darla,” he hissed. “Where are they?”

There were many men who would have pissed themselves to be on the business end of Angel’s fangs, but Lindsey was not one of them.

Angel found this irritating.

A throat cleared from behind, which he found even more irritating. But Angel refused to drag his eyes away from Lindsey. His grip was firm and uncompromising. Such was a man pushed to the edge. It was time these lawyers learned firsthand who they were dealing with.

“Angel,” the man behind greeted. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. Holland Manners.”

Angel’s mouth twitched. “I’d be careful who you offer that hand to, Mr. Manners. You might lose it.” He broke out into a purely sadistic smile. “Isn’t that right, Lindsey?”

“There are worst things to lose, aren’t there?” Lindsey spat in turn.

That was it. Angel shoved him to the wall, then pivoted to address Holland Manners. “So. You’re the one pulling the strings around here?”

Holland Manners, upon first glance, was hardly a man to strike fear into anyone’s heart. He stood promptly, business-like, with a small smile. The look on his face was pleasantly disarming. “A few of them,” Manners conceded. “I am Division Head of Special Projects.”

There was not one part of that sentence Angel liked. “Special projects like Darla?”

Manners’s smile remained candid—chocolate laced with poison. Had the man been anything but human, he would have found himself absent a head. “Oh, Darla’s just a tool,” he explained good-naturedly. “Means to an end. You’re the project.”

The words were barely off his lips before the office doors opened and the trained personnel who dealt with unwanted vampiric visitors piled inward, complete with rifles equipped with stakes as makeshift bayonets. Angel didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He kept his gaze trained on the self-proclaimed Division Head of Special Projects, daring the other man to blink. “I can crush the life out of you before they even lift a finger.”

Holland simply smiled. “Oh, I’m sure you can. But you won’t.”

“Won’t I?”

“You don’t kill humans.”

Angel bit back a snarl. “You don’t qualify. You set things in motion, play your little games up here in your glass and chrome tower, and people die. Innocent people die.”

Manners’s eyes twinkled as and he leaned forward. “And yet, I just can’t seem to care.” Another blinding smile. “But you do. And while you’re making threats, wasting time, smashing windows, your girls are out painting the town red, red, red.”

“Where?” Not that Angel expected an answer, but it never hurt to ask.

“Well, that would be telling. In any case, you might want to hurry.” Holland’s voice changed just a fraction, at last allowing the first hint of a threat to whisper through. It was near imperceptible, but there nonetheless. “So many lives in the balance, waiting for their champion to save them.”

Angel glanced at one of the bayonets. “Mhmm. As if you’re just gonna let me walk out of here, huh?”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Holland replied. “You misunderstand us, Angel. We don’t want you dead. _Yet_. If we did, you wouldn’t be standing here.” He pivoted to the security team, practically bouncing on his feet. “Would you please escort our _guest_ out of the building?” Manners turned back to the vampire. “I would walk you out myself, but I’m running a little late for a wine tasting at my home.

“And,” Manners added after he had turned to leave. “Just so we’re clear on the matter, you’re not invited.”

While Holland didn’t seem to care what happened to Angel after he was out of sight, Lindsey McDonald all but buzzed with excitement. He followed the team down the halls, made inane commentary, and was all but skipping when the familiar flicker of red and blue greeted them on the street.

Angel wanted to rip his spleen out.

“I’ll send you a bill for the window and the shirt,” Lindsey offered with a gesture to the torn fabric resting half-shredded across his chest.

Angel didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, you do that,” he agreed, not flinching as he was manhandled and cuffed. “And after I stop Darla and Dru, I might come back and pay you in person.”

“Yeah,” Lindsey replied, “go do your little champion thing and then come back and see me…if you make bail.” He turned to one of the men in uniform. “Give him a nice holding cell, officers. With a window. Southern exposure preferred.” He didn’t even look to see if his whimsical request was heard. “The firm might not want you dead…but I’m cool with it.”

And that was it. A matter of time now. Time and cunning. More time wasted while lives tangled in a tantalizing view of what could be as opposed to what was. Darla and Drusilla, destroying everything that crossed their path apart. There was no telling how much damage there would be when all was said and done. Drusilla’s black imagination. Darla’s newly-returned bloodlust. Too much balancing the scales. Wolfram and Hart had all the pieces.

And now Angel’s true family was out there—dancing through the town. Doing something he could not. They were needling him slowly, patching into something darker than either could even begin to imagine.

If they kept asking for Angelus, he feared they might get him.

For now, though, Angel found himself in a patrol car next to an irritated Kate Lockley.

“Perfect,” he murmured.

Time wasting. Darla and Drusilla had all they needed to turn Los Angeles into their personal playground.

Wolfram and Hart. Always back to Wolfram and Hart.

Fucking perfect.

*~*~*

The atmosphere in Lindsey’s office had changed very little in the course of ten minutes, except that Holland Manners was sitting behind the desk.

Lindsey stopped in the doorway, knowing better than to enter uninvited, even if the name on the door was his.

“And how is our friend?”

“The police won’t keep him long,” Lindsey replied.

Manners smiled, motioning for him to enter. “Long enough, let’s hope. Ms. Yuell was kind enough to inform me the mage arrived ten minutes ago.”

Lindsey perked his eyebrows and stepped over the threshold. “Did he?”

“Mages are impeccably punctual.” The man spoke as though he considered it universal knowledge. One never knew with Holland.

“Will he require our presence during the ritual?”

“No, no. Our guest has his own means.” Manners turned sharply, hands crisscrossed behind him. “Are you excited, Lindsey? Surely you can appreciate the leap we are about to take.”

Lindsey’s lips quirked. “Yes sir,” he retorted. “The Order of Aurelius will serve as a very powerful asset.”

“Only Angelus does not make the Order complete.” That came from the doorway, where stood Lilah Morgan. For a woman so on the outs with her status, she portrayed more confidence than Lindsey would ever give her credit for. “According to our files, the youngest member of the Order is still alive… Well, not _alive,_ I suppose, if you’re a purist for terminology.”

Holland smiled. “Lilah. So kind of you to join us.”

She did not even bother to nod—an oddity for someone always on the prowl for advancement. It was nearly criminal to allow a superior such as Holland to go unacknowledged, and she was likely one of the few who could get away with it. “William the Bloody, circa 1880, sired by Drusilla and ‘raised’, so to speak, by our man himself.”

“Ah, yes. William the Bloody.” Manners was still smiling. “Goes by another name now, does he not?”

“Adapted a nickname a brief time following his siring,” Lilah verified. “Took a while to catch, but I managed to dig it out of our more ambiguous files. He’s called himself _Spike_ for over a century now. According to his most recent activities—with the assistance of a few government files that fell into our possession—have centered around his hunting and killing his kind in our neighboring Hellmouth.”

“Sunnydale,” Lindsey supplied unnecessarily.

“Last year, a chip was planted in the subject’s head by a since-allegedly disbanded group of special-ops called the Initiative,” Lilah continued as though Lindsey hadn’t spoken. “There have been rumors to support a restoration of said special-ops in South America, but nothing concrete has reached our intelligence. The subject, known to the Initiative as Hostile Seventeen, works as a sort of demonic neutralizer.”

“Meaning?” Lindsey prodded.

“He can’t attack humans, or harm them in any way without receiving an intense neurological shock.” She paused for effect. “His handicap has rendered him more or less a participant in the Hellmouth’s struggle against their various local scares.”

“What is the less, might I ask?” Holland Manners asked.

“As you can imagine, the demon community hasn’t responded well to the subject’s change of alliance, though his actions can be mostly attributed to monetary compensation.” She stopped again. “William the Bloody would be a powerful benefit to the firm, given what I found in my reading. Aside from completing the remaining and, more importantly, most acknowledged members of the Order, he has also killed two slayers in his time, exhibiting cunning and strength. Recruiting him would give us an unspeakable advantage.”

At that, Lindsey stepped forward. Even though the question sounded insidious on his tongue, he felt the need to ask. “Recruit him to do what? Throw rocks at our adversaries?”

“Wolfram and Hart has the means required to cure the subject of unwanted side-effects.” Lilah smirked, and unlike Holland, it wasn’t pleasant. “I believe you knew that. Besides, our two boys aren’t exactly known for getting along. Should Angelus’s contract with the firm stand on shaky ground, it would be handy to have someone like Spike at our disposal.”

Holland smiled once more, though he now seemed genuinely pleased. “Very good, Lilah,” he commended. “Perhaps after Angelus and Darla have become reacquainted, we can send a team to Sunnydale and collect our commodity.”

Ah, a loophole. Lindsey loved loopholes. “If I may,” he intervened. “I believe that it might be more beneficial in the department of influence if someone he is familiar—even comfortable—with is the one to extend the invitation. According to _my_ reading, he was involved with Drusilla for well over a century. Perhaps she would serve as the greatest means of persuasion.”

“Wow, Lindsey,” Lilah cooed, “no flashcards?”

“I did my homework, too,” he retorted.

“Now children, no squabbling.” Manners clucked his tongue. “I, for one, believe Lindsey made an excellent observation.”

Lindsey smirked. Lilah rolled her eyes.

“Yes,” Holland continued, “I believe we should do that immediately.”

Lindsey nodded, his heart leaping into his throat. “And Darla should go with her.”

A still beat rang through the office.

“Drusilla is a loose cannon,” he hurried to explain. “If this project is as important as Lilah suggests, its success will depend on its players. Drusilla will search for fun, but Darla will be sure that the job is accomplished.”

He didn’t think it would be appropriate to add that he wanted Darla as far from Angelus as possible.

Holland had to know the true motive—he’d lectured Lindsey on the benefit of healthy relationships as a hopeful deterrent to his fascination with Darla. However, in that second, it was as though that conversation had not taken place. There was nothing but the cool, methodical puppeteer of the Special Projects Division. Holland Manners might know Lindsey wanted Darla out of Los Angeles to keep her away from Angelus, even briefly, but he also saw the wisdom behind his reasoning.

“All very well,” Manners said. “Yes. As soon as all is settled, we will send Darla and Drusilla to Sunnydale to collect the last member of the Order. I do wish it could be sooner, but Angelus’s addition to the fold will require a period of adjustment. After we have Spike in our possession, we will see him into neurological surgery to remove his…dilemma.”

Lilah shifted uneasily. “What about the Slayer?”

“Ms. Summers?”

“According to our research, the subject has been working alongside the Slayer for the length of his condition.”

“Voluntarily?” Lindsey asked. Considering Angel’s sordid past with Buffy Summers, it would positively kill him if another someone—another undead someone—had managed to wheedle his way into the Slayer’s heart. It was a long shot, but those were known on occasion to pay off.

“No. I believe I mentioned that he works in turn for money,” Lilah replied. “But you forget this particular Slayer has a likeness for forming bonds with vampires, our residential soulboy acting as a case in point.”

Holland pursed his lips. “Yes, this does deserve some consideration. Ms. Summers is the longest surviving Slayer in history, am I right?”

“The third,” Lilah said.

“Splendid. This might well work to our benefit. If things with the mage do not proceed as well as hoped, we can resort to more…primal means to extracting Angel’s soul.”

Lindsey fought the temptation to roll his eyes. “What are you going to do?” he muttered. “Lock them naked in a room and play Barry White until they can’t help but screw? Angel might not be a model for self-restraint, but I think he has more control than your average teenager.”

Holland was not amused. “I do not appreciate that sort of humor.”

“Good idea, though,” Lilah added with a smirk.

“Oh, come on. Angel knows his limitations. He wouldn’t dare.”

“I do not anticipate requiring the…shall we say, services of the Slayer in this matter. The mage is highly skilled in such forms of retraction.” Manners’s smile returned easily. “Darla and Drusilla will collect the Slayer on their trip.”

“Are you expecting her to just”—Lindsey gestured—“go along because our girls ask nicely?”

Lilah snickered.

“Don’t be silly. I would never presume to ask the girls to _ask nicely.”_ Holland’s leer intensified. “And certainly a slayer who has survived this long would not be taken of her own will. Oh no. I foresee a great amount of force in obtaining what we want. And as you know, such endeavors have never troubled our firm.”

Lindsey glanced down. There wasn’t much that troubled the firm at all, the murder of children notwithstanding. A familiar sickness churned in his stomach. “Of course.”

“Now then.” Holland’s voice turned chipper. “We best be off. Wouldn’t want to leave our guests waiting.”

“No,” Lindsey agreed. “We wouldn’t want that.”

There were many things he was finding himself not to want.

Not that it mattered, of course. The project was everything.

The pieces were set, and it was time to move.

*~*~*

An hour ago, no one would have seen this coming.

They hadn’t made a move thus far—had done nothing but circle the cellar several times, sprouting threats and working the crowd like the sick buildup to the grand finale. While the two vampires had done nothing more than compliment the ivory of Lilah Morgan’s skin and address Holland’s foolish offering of a massacre, no one could doubt their intention. They were looking for a party, and they had found one.

Darla had stopped in front of Lindsey. Of everyone present, he was the most indifferent. He stood solemnly, watching her through hooded eyes. It was not an exercise of ego. He had resigned himself to his fate the minute they waltzed through the door.

And Darla knew this. He knew she knew. She’d caught sight of him and dismissed whatever she had said to Holland—something about being able to sense the fear clouding the atmosphere. And now she was in front of him. Examining him.

She was so goddamned beautiful. If he had to die, at least he died with a hell of a view.

“But not from you,” Darla told him. “Do you know what I’m getting from you, Lindsey?” She leaned inward, fangs skimming his throat. “Nothing. Why aren’t you afraid?”

How was he supposed to answer? There was nothing to say that she couldn’t figure for herself. Only that looking at her now, even as she bore her true face, he couldn’t think of anywhere that he would rather be. That likely made him either another sap-heart fool in love or out of his mind, but he wasn’t too concerned with either possibility.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly.

Darla’s brows perked. “You could die here,” she informed him. “Chances are you will.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t care.”

“I care,” he said. But that wasn’t entirely true. “I guess I just don’t mind.”

There was a laugh from behind. Holland, smiling still to his credit, spread his hands diplomatically. “No one is going to die here.” That seemed highly unlikely. “This is just a friendly get-together amongst colleagues. We’re all on the same…” He drifted off when he became aware of the other—Drusilla—dancing behind him. “…side.”

Darla ignored Holland, instead glancing around the chamber with a sigh. “I love this room. Dru, honey, in our new digs…” She turned sharply to join her companion, wrapping one arm around her new sire and another around Holland. “We _have_ to get a people cellar.”

However, Drusilla wasn’t listening. Her eyes had drifted, adapting the same blaze she spurned every time another vision attacked her fragile mind. “Something has changed,” she said, tearing herself away. She crossed her arms and began to sway rhythmically to a song only she could hear. “He’s calling. Oh…Daddy’s home.”

Yes, he was. Lindsey glanced to the doorway, where stood Angel.

Darla did not miss a beat. She twisted and flashed her former lover a smirk. If she noticed his blank expression, she ignored it. Angel had never been one to show much emotion, true, but he now appeared emptier than ever. Hollow. As though the man in his body had jumped ship, taking the demon with him.

“Angelus,” Darla announced. "Here for the tasting?”

“Look what we have for you,” Drusilla said in offering. She received no reaction, however, and her spirits fell on cue. “It’s not Daddy. It’s never Daddy.” She flashed her canines and hissed. “It’s the Angel-beast.”

Then something changed.

Angel smiled.

And at last, Lindsey’s blood ran cold.

“Precious,” he drawled, stepping inside. “That is where you’re wrong.”

At first, Lindsey didn’t know how to react. He hadn’t anticipated celebrating Angelus’s return, but at the moment, despite the healthy rush of fear now flooding his veins, he wouldn’t have traded anything for the front-row seat he had in viewing Holland’s face.

Complete and utter disbelief.

“Angelus!” Holland greeted hurriedly. “I’m so glad the mage reached you in time. You see, Wolfram and Hart orchestrated your—”

“You’ve only started talking and I’m bored already,” Angelus drawled. His eyes, however, had not abandoned Darla’s. She was standing motionless, absolutely dumbfound. It had to come as a shock, of course. Over a century had passed since she’d last seen him. “What was that you said about a tasting, darling?” he asked with a grin. “I gotta tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry.”

Darla just stared.

Then, slowly, she smiled. It was like her. She understood, and she wouldn’t fall at his feet. Her victory was small but powerful, and it rippled through the walls like a roll of thunder.

“Of course,” she said, turning to Holland. “Poor dear’s been living on pig’s blood for far too long. I believe the least you can do is offer him a decent meal.”

Drusilla bounded up and down gleefully. “Daddy!”

But Angelus didn’t reply as he approached Holland Manners. His human features melted away, and he grinned at the old man’s horror before lowering his mouth to his ear.

“Make a wish,” he whispered.

Then bit down.

And drank.


	3. Inside A Deep Ravine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place immediately after BtVS Season 5 episode _Triangle_ (the one with Anya's trollish ex).

It was late, she was bored, and the demon population wasn’t exactly working to remedy that. _Figures_. Local baddies rarely accommodated her schedule. So for the umpteenth hour in a row, she found herself staring at newly lain graves in the hope of seeing something shift.

But no. Apparently all the deaths in the last day had been _natural._ Furthermore, there had been nothing more from Glory, her mother seemed to be doing well, and Dawn, despite her rampant teenage hormones, had managed to keep out of trouble for forty-eight hours.

Buffy was in a holding period to end all holding periods.

Which meant, naturally, something bad was coming.

 _Hooray for positive thinking_.

Granted, Buffy rationalized as she made her third uneventful sweep of Restfield Cemetery, only two days had passed since the trauma that was the big troll.

Even that had been over before it started. Lousy trolls.

Buffy sighed and glared at the nearest grave. One little demon. That was all she wanted tonight.

Well, what she _really_ wanted was to go home, soak, and cuddle with the boyfriend that had left when life became too real, but that wasn’t happening.

Okay, so that wasn’t what she really wanted. But she wanted to want it. The place Riley had in her heart was vacant, yes, but not unmanageable. It hurt that it didn’t hurt more, and then it just hurt all over. As though her non-indifference-but-close was enough to warrant his leaving. As though every nasty thing he’d said was true.

She had known that, of course. On some level buried under heaps and heaps of denial, she had known that. 

But he was Joe Normal. He was what she was supposed to want.

Sometimes, like now, life sucked beyond the telling of it.

And there were no demons to take it out on.

Buffy sighed again, gave the grave one last glare, and officially threw in the towel. There was no point in wasting a perfectly good chick-flick night wandering aimlessly around the cemeteries.

If Riley were here, they could spar. Or make love. Of course, neither one of those activities scored high on the relaxing scale. Fighting Riley had always aggravated her because she couldn’t unleash her everything and just be…her. The Slayer. She was always afraid she was going to hurt him. Or break him.

And the other…

Their bedroom life the past year had gone seriously downhill. To his credit, he had started their physical relationship as a very attentive lover, but time progressed and the newness of their relationship had fizzled to a dull static. And he’d become Joe Normal on a whole new plateau. 

 _His_ plateau, of course. She’d never asked him to do more in bed, too afraid it would damage his precious male ego. Thus, Buffy had become a pupil in one of the oldest arts of her gender. A self-taught pupil, of course. It wasn’t as though there was a how-to manual, and she certainly couldn’t ask her mother. 

_“Mom…how do you fake an orgasm?”_

And Riley had never known the difference. And yeah, that hurt. It hurt when it didn’t hurt enough and it hurt that she was not giving him what he needed. Because she knew that he loved her. Despite everything else, he loved her. And she had pushed him away because she didn’t—she couldn’t—feel the same.

It wasn’t because he wasn’t Angel. God, if that wasn’t the king of all revelations. Angel wasn’t what she wanted anymore. From the few times that they had talked since he’d abandoned her for Los Angeles, he had turned into someone she didn’t know. Naturally, there was a part of her that would always love him. He had been her first, and no girl ever really let go of her first. It wasn’t possible. But she wasn’t dumb enough to believe that he was The One anymore. And she had long ago stopped fantasizing that he would one day come to his senses and rescue her from the woes of slayerhood.

That would never happen. She knew it now. She had known it for a while.

But Angel wasn’t the reason that she couldn’t give Riley what he wanted. And that was what bothered her. On the surface, Riley had been everything she should want. He wasn’t. And he never had been.

Whistler had been right all along. In the end, it was only her. And it would be that way forever. After all, what could a girl whose death was always licking her heels offer anyone? A few good rolls in the sack, if that. A hearty kiss farewell before—boom—massive deadness.

There were times that being the Slayer caught up with her.

A surprisingly cool breeze flitted through the cemetery and Buffy shivered, crossing her arms.

That was when she heard the unmistakable signs of a struggle. At once, her spirits lifted. Perhaps the evening’s hunt wouldn’t be a total waste.

The scene upon arrival, however, took the wind out of her sails. Spike was beating the tar out of some newly risen fledgling, and apparently having a marvelous time doing so, if the ear-to-ear grin was an indication of anything.

“Great,” she muttered. “The first vampire I’ve come across all night and he’s spoken for.”

The sound of her voice apparently startled the fun-stealing vamp to the point he halted abruptly and whirled to face her with wide eyes. Weird. She’d flabbergasted him simply by showing up.

“Buffy—”

Not good. Stopping to talk to your mortal enemy during a fight was not good.

“Spike!” Buffy snapped, dragging a stake out of her back pocket. “You’re—”

Too late. Baby Vamp seized the opportunity to slam him into the side of the nearest mausoleum. Spike barely had time to grunt before his nose was full of Baby Vamp elbow and his head smashed against the stone wall.

That was all the excuse she needed. Buffy hurled herself enthusiastically into the line of fire.

_Snooze you lose, blondie._

“Oi, Slayer!” Spike called. “Find your own! I saw him first!”

“Sorry, Bleach Boy,” she retorted, words stressed between punches. “Finders…keepers…”

There was a disgruntled mumble. She couldn’t blame him for being irritated, seeing as this particular vamp was a laughably easy slay that she was trying to drag out into an epic battle. After all, there would be no more fighting after he bit the dust.

Bah. The woes of slow nights.

Even going easy on the newb, the fight didn’t last nearly as long as she would have liked. All too soon, Buffy was staring at a fading cloud of dust, sighing to herself and shoving her stake back into her rear pocket. As an afterthought, she turned to Spike.

The way he looked at her these days was…weird. She’d thought she’d been imagining at first, but faced with nothing else to distract her, she had to admit something had changed. Not that it meant much, seeing as the peroxide pest was always up to something or other. If she knew him half as well as she thought she did, she would be foiling some supremely retarded plan come the next two weeks or so.

Nights like this, she hated the chip. Not that she would ever admit it. While killing him remained on her list of favorite threats, it was currently at the bottom of her to-do list. Still, she did wish they could go at it the way they used to. Despite his notable flaws, he was one of the worthiest adversaries she had ever faced.

And she was so tired of fights she knew she could win.

With Spike, it hadn’t been about winning so much as dodging the bullet. The chip made it easy to forget just how close he’d come to killing her on multiple occasions, but when she saw him in motion, it all came back.

“Bloody perfect,” he muttered, dusting himself off appropriately. “You know how long it took me to find a fresh one?”

“Hey, you’re lucky I came along.”

“To what? Distract me?” 

“No…” Buffy frowned, jutting out her lip. “Okay, okay. So he was a baby vamp. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a Spike-dustiness ending to this story in the loom.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Even if that were the case, since when are you one to care, Slayer?”

“Since the days of my boredom have reduced me to contemplating ending your sorry existence if patrol doesn’t pick up.”

“Heard that one before. Gets a little stale after a while. You do know that, right?”

She sighed and fell into step beside him. Staying to chat was likely not the best idea, but she wasn’t in the mood to be wall-put-uppy Buffy tonight. Chatting with Spike would at least kill time. “Yeah, yeah. Well, I gotta say it. You know. To keep you in line.”

“Right.” He huffed. She didn’t have to look at him know he was smirking at her, and it egged at her senses that she knew him so well. “’Cause it works like a bleeding charm. Fuck, Slayer, you must really be bored.”

“God, you have no idea. The vamps are a no-go and have been on the side of avoidy for a couple nights.” She flexed her shoulders. “That’s forever in Buffy-years. I’ve reduced myself to watching Jackie Chan films and pretending it’s me kicking ass.”

“After only two days?” Spike shook his head again, reaching for his cigarettes. “That is sad.”

“Excuse me. I believe your television schedule revolves around  _Passions_  and  _Passions_  reruns wherever you can catch them. Don’t lecture me on sad.”

“Well, seeing as you’re so close to losing your marbles, I gotta say, I’m glad it was you who killed ole Henry back there.” When she looked at him, he shrugged, lighter finding the end of his cig. “Hank. Harm told me about him. Got sired by some of her old lackeys. The ones you didn’t off in the Rescue-The-Bit, Take Thirty-Five showdown a couple weeks back.”

Rescuing Dawn from Harmony. That had been before Riley left.

Grumble.

As if he sensed the direction her thoughts had taken, Spike stopped suddenly and pivoted to face her. “Look,” he said, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Timing never seemed right, and honestly, I don’t know what there is to say. Only that I gotta get it out there so you get me, right?”

He had serious-face. This was never good.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. “What’s the what?”

He shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s about what happened last week…with Captain Cardboard an’ the vamp brothel. I just—”

Immediately, Buffy held up a hand and stepped back. “I really, _really_ don’t wanna talk about this.”

He made a move to reach for her and she bristled.

_What is it with him and being touchy feely?_

“Look, I don’t wanna rub the salt in anything or what all. That’s not what I have to say. It’s just…you need to hear this.”

“I don’t need to hear anything from you, Spike. Ever.”

There. That was a bit more like herself. Being nice to the Bleached Wonder always led to badness. Who knew when he would seize the initiative and leap into her bubble? After all. Spike preferred to make himself comfortable wherever it was inconvenient for others. 

He was exceptionally talented at rubbing her the wrong way.

Especially nights like tonight.

“Yes you bloody do,” he insisted, grabbing her wrist and whirling her around to face him.

For a beat, she wondered how or why she allowed him to get so close. Her body itched with the need for another fight and she wondered if her Slayer senses would be satisfied if she popped him in the nose. Had he not looked so serious, she would have put the hypothesis to test.

“And the sooner you accept that,” he continued, “the happier the lot of us’ll be.”

He observed her wearily, head cocked, those endless eyes of his—that she was so _not_ noticing, thank you very much—made something inside her shift.

Why? Why was he suddenly looking at her like that?

“Buffy, I didn’t take you there that night to hurt you, no matter how it mighta seemed.”

At that, she rolled her eyes. Since when did Spike care about hurting her? Wasn’t that his life’s mission? His prerogative? “Right. Because hurting the Slayer is nowhere near Spike’s lot in life. Or unlife. Please. I’m so not worrying with this now. Goodnight.”

“Not hurting the Slayer, you daft bint.  _You_.”

She knew he hadn’t meant to say it like that by the telling widening of his eyes and therefore ignored it. Safer that way.

Yet he kept talking.

“If I wanted to hurt you, you’d feel it. I don’t work that way, and you know it.”

He had a point there. Spike hadn’t resorted to striking so personally in a long while. There was that day in the sun when he’d suggested that she wasn’t worth a second go, and that remark had been no more hurtful than the jab she’d made about Dru when they’d run into each other at the frat party. When Spike wanted to hurt, he hurt in the all-out sense. He talked big, of course. A recent evening rendezvous to the Bronze rang as proof enough of that, but anything more was too _Angelus_. And if there was anything Spike was not, it was Angelus.

_Huh. Weird._

Time to go home.

“Right. I get it.” She turned to leave again.

“You do not. You’re just—”

Buffy heaved an aggravated sigh. “Look, what happened—when I said I didn’t wanna talk about it, I meant as in the really. You’re not exactly my ideal chatting partner, thus when I do open up, it definitely won’t be to you. But…” She stopped, holding up a hand. “What happened…it was…I’m glad I found out. Even if it did hurt, I needed to know. And yeah, I guess that’s…it was important, despite your motive.”

“My motive was to show you what was going on under your nose, love. Nothing more. Didn’t figure you’d want your boy—”

“Again with the not chatty. You’ve said your piece and I’m going home. This is me dropping the subject. Okay?”

He sulked a bit. “Calling quits already? Come on, Slayer. I’m sure if we put our heads together and tag-team this bloody two-bit town, we can find some action worth lookin’ in on.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah. Because my stealthy self couldn’t pick up one tail, and this is sort’ve my calling. But two of us, especially a notably loudmouthed bleached chip-head—right. We’ll be rolling in the vamps. Stakes all around.”

“You’re a bloody riot.”

“I do stand-up on the weekends.”

“Better stick to your…” Spike threw a pointed, nearly accusing glance at the darkened sky. “…night job.”

“Not that I have a choice.”

“Come on. The night’s young…if you’re a vamp or one who hunts vamps…which you are. Where’s your sense of adventure?” His eyes danced and he twitched slightly with some of that endless energy he had on tap. “There’s nothing you can do at home that you can’t do out with me.”

There was no way not to mask the initial response that sprung to mind, given that Xander and Anya were the people she spent most days with now that Riley was gone. This meant enduring hours of Anya telling her to leave point blank so that she might engage in sexcapades with her ever-attentive boyfriend.

Yeah, that was why sex was on the mind. Buffy felt her cheeks flush.

When she hazarded a glance up and caught the proud smirk on his lips, she knew she’d been caught. It was infuriating how easily he read her. There was no one else that had such a talent. 

Buffy the Ambiguity. Buffy the Ambiguity to all save one William the Bloody.

Caught in wordless, heated embarrassment, Buffy resorted to her last form of defense. She tossed him a dirty glance and made to brush passed him.

“Oh, don’t gimme that look,” Spike protested with a snicker. “It’s your perverted little mind that thought up whatever delicious dirty you’re trying so hard to _not_ think.”

Better to feign ignorance. “How did—”

“Saw your face. That was enough. And I suspect there’s more to it where that came from.” He laughed harder. “There, there, Slayer. We’ve all got our various… _kinks_.”

“Get bent.”

She pushed passed him furiously and started marching home…to no avail. Spike fought to her side and kept up rather nicely, hands buried in the pockets of his billowing duster. His lips attentively tended to the cigarette and she was a little wigged at how much his nicotine habit had stopped annoying her. Smokers were nasty. Smokers were not to be associated with…ever. And yet, around Spike it was nearly expected. As though he wasn’t entirely there if he wasn’t puffing away at something. 

They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, and just as she was starting to debate the pros and cons of staking him for good, he started blabbing again. “Are you sure…about the rest and everything? It got really nasty there at the end.”

Buffy felt a breath catch her in throat and went frigid. “We’re talking about Riley again?”

“I just…if I’d’ve known—”

“It hurt. He ran away from us. From our problems.” Buffy heaved another full body sigh and directed herself to a headstone. They hadn’t even made it out of the cemetery.

Of course not.

Once more, it occurred to her that spilling her innermost thoughts and insecurities to the man previously dedicated to her demise was not of the good, but for tonight, she was tired of playing by the rules. She was tired of so much. It was late and he was here. He was Spike, yes, and he was the proud bane of her existence, but some random voice within her psyche whispered that he would listen, and furthermore, that he would understand. Talking to Xander was a no because he had been there at the end and seen everything. He had given her the inspirational last speech about saving the one good thing in her life. He would put on his sympathetic face, but he didn’t truly feel sorry for her.

Willow was similarly a no. When Oz had walked out on her, it had ruined her completely. It had ruined her on an Angel-leaving level. Even Buffy couldn’t remember grieving the loss of her one true love as much as her friend had the departure of her first and only boyfriend. For that, she couldn’t talk to Willow. Oz had meant more than Riley. Willow had loved Oz.

Buffy had not loved Riley. And she saw that now.

Spike was not exactly a yes, but he wasn’t a no, either. He was here and that was good enough.

And if he breathed a word to anyone, she could always shove something wooden and pointy through his chest.

“Sometimes,” she said softly. “Sometimes I feel like…my problems. Like something’s wrong with—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” The note in his voice surprised her. Warmed her too. “It wasn’t you that made him go out for suck jobs.”

“No, but I pushed him away. I’ve been so focused on Mom and Dawn and—”

“The things you shoulda been focused on?” he suggested softly. She didn’t reply. “Buffy, your mum just had a bloody serious operation. If you weren’t there to be his snuggle-bunny, it was his fault for—”

“That’s what I thought. Apparently no one else did. People seem to forget that I have every day slayage and Mom-taking-care-of and Dawn-sitting to tend to. All at once, mind you! Oh no, everyone’s big on the ‘it’s Buffy’s fault’ train.”

“Everyone is wrong,” Spike said gently.

“You can’t know that.”

“I do.”

It was hard to argue with a man who sounded that certain, even if that man was a vampire with a mean streak a mile wide. Not to mention the total lack of patience. There was probably a list somewhere—categorized alphabetically—detailing every nasty thing the Scourge of Europe had done or thought about doing. But now, standing with him, that stuff was disturbingly easy to forget.

“It’s funny how little details slip your mind, Summers,” Spike drawled, “like how I know slayers on a whole pretty damn well.”

Her eyes narrowed. Then again, on other days, remembering what he was came naturally. “Yeah. Need to know your enemy, right?”

 “If that was the case,” he replied, “you woulda been six feet under a long time ago.”

Buffy arched an eyebrow.

 “Maybe not by me.”

She snorted. “Maybe.”

“You know I’ve come close, love. What’s saved you from a nasty death thanks to yours truly is the same thing that saves you every bloody night.” He paused as though waiting to see if she’d challenge him on this, but she didn’t. In truth, Spike probably did know her better than Angel. “And the fact that I’m still trying to figure you out is all the better for you. Your local nasties’ll never make a bloody dent. Lord help us all if someone ever gets to the core of that onion.”

Buffy blinked. Had Spike just paid her a compliment? She hated it when he did that. When he acted as though he were all Average Joe going about his merry way. As though he wasn’t what he was.

It made it harder to hate him, and that was something Buffy enjoyed keeping filed under the Simple heading. Hating Spike was supposed to be like breathing. Natural. Instinctual. Basic. He wasn’t supposed to go all Vamp-Casanova on her. 

Except he’d caught her on a night when she’d desperately needed to hear just that. That smidgeon of reassurance that what had happened to her—to her and Riley, to her and all her relationships—was not entirely of her doing. She was the Slayer first and foremost, and she couldn’t have the average life. Or the average boyfriend. It was nice that someone was acknowledging that.

Even if that someone was Spike.

“Do you mean it?”

Again, the air grew still. Buffy had known many silences. Too many to count. Never one with Spike.

Spike had never had a quiet note in his life, especially where she was concerned.

He made as though to touch her but withdrew almost instantly. It must have been her face, which she realized had crunched into a scowl. Could he blame her? There was no friendly touching where Spike was concerned. There should be no touching period, save the necessary punch.

“Yeah,” he said finally. Still quiet. “I mean it. Christ, Summers, you’re near impossible to get close to. I should know. Tried foiling everything you threw at me from day bloody one, and that was three years ago. You’ve outdone yourself. And whatever this new bitch has on you…what’s her name?”

“Glory.”

“Right. If she knew what she was getting herself into, she’d be making tracks.” He smiled as though he was proud. “As it is, I’m sure you’ll see that she gets her ass right and properly kicked.”

“What about you?”

“Me? Oh, I’ll be there. Count on it. You think I get my rocks off by watching from the sidelines?”

“I don’t give much thought to how you get your rocks off at all.”

He seemed surprised for a moment, then grinned. “Like the way your mind works.”

Another compliment. This one all but made her spine vibrate, and at once she came back to herself—to the moment she was sharing with someone she _shouldn’t_ be with.

What the hell was she thnking? There was no part of this that could result in the area code of good. The last time she let Spike this close, they had been under a spell and doing anything but talking. He didn’t look like he expected anything of her, but there was a line between them that could never be crossed. She had placed it there long ago.

Freakish space becoming an issue.

“I-I should…umm…” Buffy frowned and stepped back. “I’ve—uh—gotta be heading home.”

The response was automatic. Spike nodded and stepped back. “Right then. Toddle on off. I’m sure your pals have gotten into some tragic accident without your supervision.”

“Hey—”

“What’s up with you, Summers? You’re all…I dunno…anxious.” He ran his tongue across his teeth, eying her suggestively. “Not very becoming to a Slayer. Is it because you’ve stepped down from your almighty horse? Treating me like one of yours? I’ll admit it’s a little disconcerting, but I’m not complaining.”

At that, she scoffed. “Well, up until now, you were acting like a person. Sorry for the lapse. Sometimes I have to be reminded. Trust me when I say that it won’t—”

It took a minute to realize he had seized her arm and another to register how close he was—again. Buffy’s heart leapt, then leapt again when she realized he could probably tell he’d gotten to her.

“I act like a person more than you like to notice,” he said thickly. “Some words of wisdom, love, keep your eyes open. I might just surprise you.”

_Step away. Don’t encourage him. Go home like you should have the minute you saw his exceedingly annoying platinum head. Don’t encourage him._

“Is that so?”

“More than your precious Scoobies, that’s for certain.”

“Spike, it’s late, go home.”

“And especially now that the whelp’s arm is all rot and busted.” He ducked his head to smother a grin. “Only Muck-For-Brains would pick a fight with a bloody troll.”

The instinctive need to defend her friends swelled within her. “He was defending the woman he loves!”

“Who happens to be a very prominent and powerful ex-vengeance demon.”

“She’s…”

But there was no arguing with that. Two years ago, the very same troll-loving Anyanka had been happily exacting pain and suffering on every vaguely male-shaped body she came across. Joining the human race again had certainly done a number on her, but when push came to shove, she was the same old Anya.

A point Buffy had though to bring up with Xander more than once, but hadn’t because it wouldn’t achieve anything. Demons weren’t demons if they had a pulse and paid taxes.

And yet, she heard herself reciting the same old excuse anyway. “She’s changed.”

“Hmmm…how stunningly original.”

“She’s not like that anymore.”

“Oh, so she can be forced to adapt, but yours truly is shunned from the crowd?” Spike turned away with disgust and began to pace. “It’s all right for those with a pulse to get a little sympathy and compassion and sodding understanding every now and then, but when I go out of my bloody way to—”

“What the hell are you blabbing about?”

“You! You and the rest of you sodding do-gooders. Treating me like the outed man when I haven’t touched a drop of human blood in over a year.”

“But you would if your chip was removed.”

Spike’s brows arched. “Oh, and the former demon’s so above it that she wouldn’t go back to ripping men’s heads off if her wanker of a boss begged her to return? You forget, love, Anya’s killed a helluva lot more blokes than I have, and she enjoyed it every bit as much. Maybe more. What does it take to get in your good graces?”

“Since when have you wanted it?”

He shifted, and she saw he was suddenly uncomfortable.

_Weird._

“Man’s got eyes, doesn’t he? Your precious vamp-loving soldier’s run off and he’s taken his militia men with him. Way I figure it, I’m sorta stuck like this. Might as well make the most of it.”

“Yeah, not buying that. You’ve made no small game about how very much you want us all dead.”

“And I guess your lovable demon-turned-pulser made the transition like that.” He snapped his fingers. “No attempts to regain her nasty streak? Her powers? Everything she’d been for the better of a thousand years and more? Please, Summers. I’ve only been around for a fraction of the time Anya has, and I bloody well know that—”

“We can’t trust you.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m asking you to cut me a little slack is all.”

“Why should I?”

He blinked at her. “’Cause I asked nicely?”

“I’m going home. For real this time.”

“Right. You do that.”

“I am.”

And that was that. With a haughty toss of her hair, Buffy set off for home, relieved when he didn’t follow. The encounter already had her spiraling down a bizarre influx of otherworldly emotion that she wanted to ignore with every fiber of her being. It had been a long night, and given Spike’s weird chattiness and compliment-giving, she didn’t think she’d find sleep anytime soon.

That couldn’t happen again. Tonight was an aberration. A fluke. She’d be back on form tomorrow.

And he better know it.

Which was why, she reasoned, it made sense to turn her ass around and walk back to him. He was still there, of course. Watching her like the creepy predator he was.

“Spike?”

“Pet?”

A beat. “Stay away from me.”

He smiled. “’Course. I’ll get right on that.”

She should have berated him, should have called him on it, but she didn’t, because then they’d start talking again and be back at square one, which kind of defeated the purpose.

She didn’t belong here.

Except a part of her worried that she did.


	4. House of Usher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of the dialog throughout comes from the AtS Season 2 episode _Redefinition_.

At Wolfram and Hart, it was business as usual. No boohooing, no survivor’s story, no interview with CNN—nothing. A massacre did not justify slowing down the workflow.

The only truly bizarre thing about the entire ordeal was the selection of those left alive. The _two_ left alive. Lindsey McDonald and Lilah Morgan, each found under a pile of bodies. Each pulled out by the belated rescuers who had responded to an equally belated 911 call issued by the now late Mrs. Holland Manners.

Lindsey McDonald had just verified that he had no messages when Lilah came down the hall, her eyes cold. She wasted no time in starting in.

He wasted no time going autopilot. At least, until, a vampire snarled at him.

“What are you looking at?” he spat before shaking his head and falling back into step beside Lilah.

For her part, Lilah had hardly paused. “No phone calls, no flowers. If I were the nervous type, I’d be nervous. But as it is, I’m just pissed.”

Lindsey rolled his eyes. So typical of her. “What did you expect, Lilah?” he demanded. “We’re the only survivors of the massacre. It’s natural that we’re under suspicion.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “You know what I don’t like about suspicion? The part where they find us two weeks from now, dead in some freak accident.”

She had a point there. The firm had its less-than-orthodox ways of dealing with suspicious associates.

“We did nothing wrong,” he said.

 _Not true_ , a mutinous voice whispered. _Look at you. At this. This is wrong._

That voice was becoming a real nuisance.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” Lilah retorted. “Because I work for Wolfram and Hart. Responsibility has nothing to do with it. If they’re looking for a scapegoat, we might as well grow horns and start eating garbage.”

He blinked incredulously, his resentment growing. “Scapegoat. _Scapegoat_ , Lilah? They’re the one…”

Lilah slapped a hand over his mouth as another lawyer walked by. Once more, they were not spared a guilt-inducing glare. At once he felt a surge of something that might have been affection for her, which was wrong because their relationship was built on mutual loathing.

But dammit, he was right. They had done nothing wrong.

For once.

When he continued, his tone was reasonably lower. “They’re the ones that wanted Drusilla brought in. I was just following orders.” A pause. “And I was never supportive of the entire desouling idea. If memory serves, that was you and Holland. Of all your endeavors, how would you compare this failure to the rest?”

“Don’t you dare try to blame me.”

“I’m not. And they shouldn’t either.”

She balked. “And you honestly think that matters? Fine. Indulge your denial. Don’t doubt for a minute someone’s going to pay, Lindsey. And we’re the only ones left.”

He steered them both into his office, then stopped dead in his tracks.

“Not the only ones.”

The most vampire-ready building in California, perhaps the world, and no one had stopped the perpetrators of the massacre from waltzing through security and into Lindsey’s office. Drusilla was his chair; Darla perched on the edge of the desk. Angelus was in the corner, arms crossed. Upon first glance, Lindsey knew immediately that being here was not his idea. Just as leaving them alive hadn’t been.

Darla had to sense the tension rolling off her lover—and it was obvious even to the most ignorant observer that they had spent the past day becoming physically reacquainted—but she ignored it. Instead, she lolled her head to the side and smiled. “Lindsey,” she greeted in that husky voice he loved so much. “I’ve missed you. Close the door.”

Neither Lindsey nor Lilah budged.

Darla rolled her eyes and grinned. “Sweetpea, if we wanted you dead, you’d have never have made it out of the wine cellar. Now close the door.”

He supposed that much was true. Even if it wasn’t, he’d seen just how quickly these vamps could kill. A door, open or closed, wouldn’t stop them.

Once the door was closed, though, he couldn’t help but feel suffocated.

“He’s got cow eyes,” Drusilla stated. “Big and black.” She grinned kittenishly and draped an arm across the back of the rotating chair. “Moo.”

Lindsey sighed and decided to aim for the throat. He didn’t want to waste time with small-talk. Instead, he looked directly at the woman that had haunted his dreams for weeks and said, “You spared me. Why did you spare me, Darla?”

“Darla’s still walking off that soul she had,” Angelus answered.

Darla flashed him a grin. “You’re one to talk, aren’t you? You were back for months and didn’t manage to kill the cheerleader.”

“You know me, baby. I was getting to it.”

“Mhmm.” Darla smirked. “You do enjoy making wonderful art.” She looked back to Lindsey and slipped off the desk. “Don’t mind Angelus,” she all but purred as she sauntered toward him. “He’s always grumpy if he doesn’t get a decent kill in before sunrise. But to answer your question, my sweet Lindsey…” She leaned inward and drew in his scent. “Hmm. I’m in love with you.”

It was foolish, he knew, but for a minute he believed her. Looking into the depths of her murderous eyes. Imagining that the words were true. That she felt something for him other than a convenient meal ticket. The fantasy ended abruptly when she burst out laughing.

But her laughter wasn’t the worst. It was his.

It was the glee in Angelus’s eyes that he had something Lindsey wanted. That hurt more than her words, or Lilah and Drusilla’s cackles. It was the vampire’s smugness. His delight. His _knowing_.

Darla got a hold of herself, then turned her attention to the still-cackling Lilah. “Shut up, Lilah.”

“Shh!” Drusilla hissed.

Lindsey seized the chance to steer the conversation back to safer waters. Well, safer for him, at least. He’d rather incur the wrath of the Senior Partners than deal with Angelus’s knowing grin. “You’ve put us in a difficult position, Darla,” he said.

“Hmmm, have I? I could have sworn it was the three of us.” Darla turned and sashayed back to Angelus. “You played a hand and you lost, Lindsey. We don’t like being controlled. Although…had I known that Holland was going to give me such a lovely treat…” She ran her hands up Angelus’s chest, and the two made eyes at each other like they were about to start fucking right there on his desk. “I might have been a little forgiving.”

“I wouldn’t,” Angelus murmured.

“I know, lover. You’ve never worn generosity well.” She turned back to her audience. “I suppose this is a bit of a dilemma. Choices, choices. Such smart, young lawyers, hungry for their big break and—whups—boss gets eaten. Someone has to step in. Someone promising, pretty, with questionable ethics and twelve-hundred dollar suits that look good on the six o’clock news.”

Lilah perked an eyebrow perked. “You think they’ll promote him?”

Darla made a face like she had smelled something unpleasant. “Or you. In any case, that’s why you’re here. I’ve decided to keep the line of communication open between us and Wolfram and Hart.”

“What for?”

“I believe we can help each other.” She took one of Angelus’s hands in her own and wrapped it around her middle, smiling as he murmured something in her ear. “And before you ask, it’s power I want. We want. See, during my stint as Wolfram and Hart’s puppet, something occurred to me. I _loathe_ being used. If I recall, there was a fifteen-body-memo to that effect. We plan on being big players in this town, my boy and I. And while you can’t give me what I want, you have the things I need to get it. Money. Connections. And a face to die for.”

Lilah shook her head. “We’re no good to you dead, Darla. The Senior Partners are looking for someone to blame for your massacre.”

“ _Our_ massacre,” Angelus corrected with a growl. He yanked Darla to him tightly, thrusting his hips against her ass. She mewled a strangled cry of pleasure, and for a moment Lindsey entertained the idea of dying right now. He likely wouldn’t be able to take Angelus out before the others killed him, but there was always a chance he could.

“Yes, yes,” Lilah agreed, rolling her eyes. “Your massacre. As in, all of you. Sorry if that was vague.”

“Just want to make sure we’re on the same page, here.” Angelus cocked his head. “Which begs the question, and please…stop me if I sound ungrateful.” With a turn, he released Darla and started walking forward. “Why exactly was the firm so keen on releasing the big bad me? You thought that just because I have a hard-on for anything bloody I’d bend over backwards and be your whipping boy? Please.”

Over Angelus’s shoulder, Darla flashed a grin. “As I believe I have clarified, we do not like being used.”

“The firm was interested in piecing back together the Order of Aurelius,” Lindsey said. “Though I think you've convinced them to take that off the table.”

Darla’s grin melted to a frown. “Meaning?”

“There was going to a committee…namely you and Drusilla,” Lilah offered, nodding in Dru’s direction. “Holland was going to have you go to Sunnydale to pick up the last member of your Order. Or rather, the last member of note. William the—”

“My Spike.” Drusilla sat forward, her huge eyes wide. “Our happy family.”

“Hmmm, now that would have been interesting,” Angelus mused. “Last I heard, though, Spike was playing the part of the Slayer’s lapdog.”

Darla smirked. “Wouldn’t throw stones, dear.”

“A phase I have thankfully outgrown,” he replied, tossing her a somewhat irritated look. “Furthermore, and here’s the really funny part, he has some government chip in his head that doesn’t let him kill.”

The dreamy expression on Drusilla’s face melted into a pout. She crossed her arms and began playing with the spin option of Lindsey’s chair. “Not fair,” she complained. “Lock him up and take all his toys away. Naughty Slayer. Stealing him from me.” She looked to Darla. “Can we get him, grandmum? Can we go and rescue my William from that nasty, nasty Buffy girl? I won’t abide it.”

“The Slayer was part of the deal,” Lindsey continued. “We wanted her as leverage.”

Darla snickered. “You were going to bring the Slayer here? How very foolish.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Angelus mused, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I might like to see old Buff. Give her a big, messy, and bloody kiss for sending me to Hell.” He flashed a grin at Darla. “Not that I’m one to hold grudges, but that does irk me. And if she’s here…well, as we said. I’m a long-haul kind of planner.”

Darla’s lips curled into a smile once more.

“There’s also word of an impending apocalypse,” Lilah said. “Holland was interested in its success, and what it could mean for the firm. If the Slayer is in Sunnydale at the time that the Key is activated, she will stop—”

“Okay,” Lindsey interrupted, blinking. “…what? What Key?”

“Nothing. The specifics are not important. All you need to know is there is more than one reason we wanted the Slayer in Los Angeles.”

The smile on Darla’s face was getting nastier by the second. “You see? I knew that your precious Senior Partners wouldn’t pull the plug on you. To kill both of you would be such a waste, especially with such…colorful ideas floating around. Oh, Dru. I smell a plan.”

“Mmmm…” the insane vampire agreed. “Tastes like lemon drops.”

Angelus sighed and rolled his eyes. “Please tell me we’re not really going with the ‘snatch up Spike’ idea? I really, really can’t stand that boy. Last time we met up, he decided to take to me with a crowbar.”

Lindsey snickered. “Sounds like my kind of guy.”

The vampire’s gaze flickered. “We could always make the decision for the Senior Partners right now.”

“Down boy,” Darla said shortly. “Wouldn’t want to do anything that might stink of regret come morning.”

“What’s your deal with Spike, then?” Lindsey asked before Angelus could respond, eyebrows perked. He looked to Darla. “Afraid of a little competition?”

She snickered. “Please. I never supported the siring of that buffoon. Oh no, dear. He was made solely for one purpose.” Darla and Angelus looked pointedly at Drusilla, who seemed to be having a very animated conversation with an invisible pixie. “To keep our resident lunatic… occupied.”

“When I wasn’t taking liberties, that is,” Angelus added with a smirk.

“He’s fun…” Drusilla murmured, snapping away from her pixie conversation and licking her lips. “Bumpy in all the right places. Oh yeah. Oohhhh…but all alone. Watching his girl walk on by. Pshhh…” She abruptly leaped to her feet and crawled onto the desk until she was within reach of Angelus, clawing at his back. “Daddy. He’s taken.”

Angelus turned to her. “Taken?”

“Dancing. They’re dancing.” At that, she slid back to the floor and began swaying to unheard music, her eyes closed and an almost euphoric expression on her face. “My Spike loves the dance, but the nasty Slayer isn’t interested. She’s had her supper and is too full for dessert. She doesn’t want to go to bed with an upset stomach.”

Angelus snapped back to Darla. “Did you just hear what I just heard?”

“Spike’s in love with a Slayer.” Darla rolled her eyes. “Honestly, what is it about this girl that makes the men of our Order slobber themselves silly?”

He shrugged. “She’s got spunk, what can I say?”

“And somehow, Spike’s involvement with a slayer doesn’t surprise me at all,” Darla concluded, shaking her head. “He always was obsessed with them. Figured it was only a matter of time before he wanted to screw his meal before making it his…well…meal. And the fact that she was one of yours, Liam…”

“That boy always wanted to play with my toys.”

“I must get him out of the hole. So dark. It’s so dark in the hole.” Drusilla fixed those large eyes of hers on Lindsey. “Shall we go to Sunnydale, then? Collect my boy and bring him home?”

“Collect the Slayer to make sure home’s where he wants to go,” Darla added. “Come to think of it, there are some things I’d like to say to that vapid cheerleader…before I rip her throat out, that is.”

Lindsey frowned. “Our motive is not the Slayer’s death…” He turned to Lilah. “Is it?”

“Honey, I don’t think you understand,” Darla said. “If I want the Slayer dead, she’s dead. Wolfram and Hart following us won’t make an itty bitty bit of difference. You’re chasing a tail that won’t end. And anyway, Holland is dead. His plans are yesterday’s news.”

“No,” Lilah interjected, “they really aren’t. The contract with Wolfram and Hart goes far beyond the mortal coil. Holland’s association with the firm—”

Darla waved a hand. “Be that as it may, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not here and you are. Therefore, I’m thinking that as far as so-called ‘special-projects’, the two of you have more say. Though, really, I do thank you for the idea. Seeing little Miss Buffy again will be the perfect way to end our reunion celebration.” She turned to Angelus. “And there will be no—”

“Jealous?”

“More like disgusted.”

He chuckled. “Trust me.”

“Angelus, unless I’m wrong, Hell hasn’t frozen over.”

Lindsey smiled quietly to himself. “I believe that we can work together,” he said, stepping forward. “Though I must stress the importance of not underestimating the resources of our firm. Despite however powerful the Order was in the day, Wolfram and Hart is connected to powers that should not be taken lightly.”

“Oh, honey,” Darla retorted, turning to meet him halfway. “Was I not clear enough?” She ran her hands up his mortal chest, played the fine silk of his tie and tugged him down so that her mouth grazed his. “I have absolutely no intention of taking anything lightly…ever…again.”

And all at once, he was terrified. Not of what she would do—the wine cellar had more than proven that he was no good to her dead. No, the fear that blossomed in his chest had nothing to do with him.

“In the meantime,” Angelus was saying, moving for the door, “I think it would be rude if I didn’t visit some friends who are long overdue for a good…talking to. Drop in. Say hello. Rip out their intestines. The usual. Wouldn’t you say so, darling?”

Darla smirked at him, and Lindsey’s blood chilled even more. “Oh yes,” she agreed. “In fact…a trip to Angel Investigations is just what the doctor ordered. Just to pass the time, of course.”

“Of course.”

It was her. Her power. The power she wielded. The power she flaunted. The power she held over Angelus. There was no denying that she had him wrapped around her little finger. What she was going to do was no longer the question. That, Lindsey knew.

What frightened him was what remained unanswered.

More like, where Darla’s _reasonability_ ended.

He guessed he didn’t want to know.

 


	5. The Man of the Crowd

Watching her move was of the world’s simplest pleasures. 

Spike stoodatthe balcony of the Bronze, only half paying attention to the drink in his hand. He didn’t know why he was surprised at the turnout; the popular club was the only place in town worth going.

Yet the night was looking to be even less eventful than the past few evening’s patrol. Though she would deny it, Buffy had been ignoring him with even more fervor since their moonlit conversation. She likely figured that since she’d crossed some invisible line by talking to him as a person, and the only way to rectify it was by pretending he did not exist.

She had a birthday coming up within the next week or so. His Slayer. 

She would never be his, of course. He could watch her from the balcony all he wanted but she would never be his.

_ Righteous little holier-than-thou attitude… _

Spike had no reason to be bitter. It wasn’t as though she had ever been within reach. He wasn’t daft—his feelings had a way of changing at random, but he was still the same old Spike. The same that hunted little girls hiding in coal bins. He was a monster.

And she was radiance.

Touching her was a privilege he’d never have, much less deserve.

Spike sighed heavily, downed the rest of his drink, then placed the empty glass on the banister and moved toward a vacated seat. There was no point driving himself insane with something he could never hope to touch.

This was so beyond fucked up.

Despite knowing how very out of his league she was, Spike hadn’t thought it was a stretch to hope for a little civility if nothing else. Just a smidge. If he started trying to show her he wasn’t all fangs all the time, she’d treat him more like a person than the monster he knew he was. Those first few nights after the dream had been wrought with speculation, his mind fond of whispering _what if_ over and over.

But there was no _what if._ If he told Buffy how he felt, she’d laugh her way to her weapons chest before adding him to the pollen count. If she let him live, he’d have to do it burning with the humiliation of her rejection. No bloody thank you. Been there.

And yet that voice kept yapping. Reminding him of all the exceptions she’d made. How she’d never once considered making one for him. Angel, Anya, and the witches…she knew of the things that occurred down at Willy’s and didn’t seem to care. But when it came to him, she was all eyes and ears. She had to make sure he wasn’t doing anything that would merit a visit from her pointy stakes.

All the bloody time.

The only times she seemed to notice him was when he was acting the part of the Big Bad. Never mind the number of times he had been useful. Saved her life along with the lives of her pathetic pals. The sodding Scooby Gang. 

_ Virtuous _ __ _ little group of judgmental wankers… _

If he had any self-esteem at all, he would leave town.

As it was, Spike figured his night was all but set in stone. Leave, take a sweep of every cemetery within vicinity in desperation for something to kill, go home, shag Harmony, go to bed. Repeat as needed.

Yeah, this was living.

Spike snickered and casually knocked the glass off the banister in the hopes that it would hit some coed. The thought alone earned him a small shock from the chip, even as the glass smashed harmlessly next to the bar.

_ Of course. _ _ What a sodding waste. _

He heaved a sigh and cursed all the way down the stairs.

And ran directly into Xander Harris.

“Bloody perfect.”

“Oh, Evil Undead. You’re in my space.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Right. Sorry. Didn’t see you markin’ your territory. And, for the record, I’d rather not. I’m on my merry way. Tootles.”

Xander’s face fell. “You’re leaving.” 

It was the sort of statement that wanted to be a question but wasn’t. Spike’s eyes narrowed further. “Yeah…” he said slowly. “What of it?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Give it up, mate. Now I’m curious.”

Xander hesitated, his face screwed up like he was mentally trying to do long division. Then he heaved a defeated sigh. “I was just…with the other night and the pool-shooting. Riley’s of the gone, and you’resort’vethe only other male-shaped person around  _my_ person that can shoot a decent game. Besides…” He made a face and glanced around. “This is so not Giles’s scene, despite how many times he decides to humiliate himself and us by showing up.”

Spike blinked. “Did…did you just ask me to go a round with you?”

“Pool!”

He blinked again, then smirked. With thecompanyHarris kept, his bird most notably, it wasn’t hard to see why his mind had gone to the gutter. “Oh,” he said, nodding. “You wanna go a round _in_ the pool, is that it. I’d think with the thousand-plus years of experience, the DemonGirl’dknow how to keep you interested.”

Xander made another face. “Fine. Whatever.SorryI asked. Oh, and by the way, let’s never mention that part to anyone. Ever.”

“Give it a rest, mate. I could use a round, myself. You offering to buy the drinks, too, or do I need to knick your cash and make like I’m makin’ a grand gesture of sorts?”

To his shock, Harris responded with a wry grin and signaled over to the table. “On account of this never happening again unless the moon is full or Hell freezes over,” he said, “I’ll buy. Once! That’s it. Everything else is on your ticket.” He stopped to glare. “And don’t think I won’t be watching my wallet, buddy! ‘Cause, oh, it’ll be watched.”

Spike offered a stoic nod and tried to keep from smirking. It wasn’t hard, considering he was still reelingatthe fact that Xander had actually offered to pay. “Of course.”

“Right.”

“Uhh, mate?”

Xander turned. “Yeah?”

Spike flashed a wicked smile and pulled Xander’s wallet from his duster pocket. “Reckon you’ll be needin’ this.”

*~*~*

It was a rare night when Xander Harris treated any vampire like a human being, especially if that vampire happened to be William the Bloody.

It was an even rarer night when he seemed to have a genuinely good time doing so.

Spike didn’t know how long they had been playing and he’d long given up on trying to keep tabs on the score. They made inane conversation about the drinks, updated food wish lists that included spicy buffalo wings, flowering onions, and peppered fried potatoes that could transform any man’s innards to liquid feces on the spot.

Spike laughed heartily when Xander gave the onion a go, mostly because he started coughing almost at once. “You really need to taste it with the dip,” he advised. “It’s bloody brilliant.”

“Yeah,” Xander agreed, choking lightly. “For someone who doesn’t need to…you know…live.”

“Can’t help it if you’ve plugged your arteries to the no-pass lane, boy. You’re too young to need that kinda treatment.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Though it is bloody hilarious.”

“And yet.” Harris favored the vampire with a suspicious look. “You sure you’re not trying to kill me?”

Spike snickered and rolled his eyes. “Oh right. You got me. My newest evil plan: death by indigestion.”

“It could happen,” Xander insisted. “Well, it would take a lot of time, a good specimen, and a load of planning, but it’s not like you’ve had the chance to go out and actually be scary over the past year. Between this and _Passions_ , you’ve gotta be bored outta your mind.”

“Oh, I’m outta my mind, all right,” Spike retorted, circling the table as he reached for his cigarettes. “Just don’t know what sort, is all. And trust me, mate, I’ve toured every bloody alley this pissant settlement has to offer. All for sodding rot.”

“You’d think a town with the reputation Sunnydale has would have a little more to offer its neutered undead society.”

He chuckled appreciatively. “Yeah. You’d think.” Spike lit up and inhaled deeply, studying the position of his next conquest. “So, really, what’s this all about? You calling a truce for the night…even offerin’ to share the wealth with the neighborly undead.”

“You’re questioning my tolerance of you?”

“Well, now that you put it that way…yeah.” Spike strolled to the other side of the table, twirling the pool stick. “It’s the little lady, is it? She and the witch at odds again?”

“No. Actually, they seemed to get that resolved.” Xander paused. “Though that doesn’t mean they’re not trying to kill each other right now for an entirely different matter that I—swearing an oath—have no part of, and therefore cannot choose sides. That leads down the pathway to ugly trolls and bargains that would make you look even more impotent than you do already.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Thanks ever so.”

“I meant the chip.”

“Right.”

“Not that I care or anything.”

“’Course not.”

“Good. As long as that’s clarified.”

It occurred to Spike that this was likely the longest he and Xander had gone without threatening to spill blood or reduce one another to dusty bits. It took him by such surprise his immediate instinct was to knick the wallet for good this time and get as bloody far as he could from the kid, but he knew enough on some level that this was the sort of contact he had been sorely missing over the past months.Moderatelyintelligent conversation that didn’t include death threats. A notion so thoroughly human that he knew he should reject it, yet couldn’t. While he didn’t see him and Xander becoming the best of friends, this break was…nice, if not a little bizarre.

And more than that. Xander was obviously craving contact of the non-female variety. He’d said as much, but the evening had made this all the more apparent.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Harris continued. “Anya is fantastic. I love her completely. But sometimes…”

“She’s gotta few screws loose upstairs?”

“Hey!”

Spike cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.

“Well, you don’t have to put it that way.”

He raised a hand. “Hello, evil.”

“It’s not even her fault,” Xander went on. “After being a demon so long, a period of adjustment is only natural. There are things that come with…being of the functioning society variety of person that she is trying to be. It just takes time.”

Spike blinked and brought his cigarette to his lips. “Didn’t she pop into the mortal coil the year that Angel and the Slayer went separate ways?WayI figure it,” he said, aiming his shot and snickering when he sank another ball. “She’s had more than two years to adjust.”

“About the same as you, in other words.”

Spike stiffened. “She’s had longer.”

Xander snorted. “Yeah, Buffy mentioned that you were on some tangent about Anya and the number of ways we treat her like an equal while excluding our ever-present, apathetic member of the soulless community. The very same that’s plotted our deaths…how many times?”

“Oh, come off it. That’s been at least—”

“Two weeks.”

“Piffle. Haven’t made a decent attempt in at least a month. Maybe two. That’s right progress.”

Xander held up a hand, chuckling slightly. “Okay, okay. What do you wanna hear? That you’re no longer bad?”

“Oi!”

“Or…you are? I’m trying to keep up. Anyway, I’m here, playing nice. This count for trying?”

Yeah, of course. Bloody trying. Only Xander wasn’t the one he wanted to get close to. The object of his desire was on the other side of the dance floor, undoubtedly grinding provocatively against some brainless coed.

_ Bugger all. _

“So is that it?” Spike drawled. “Little pity for the Big Bad on a leash? And here I thought you cared.”

Xander smirked. “I would never lead you on like that.”

“So the Slayer took to it to tell you all what we chatted about. Nice to know ‘to the grave’ doesn’t even apply to the dead around here.”

“You asked her not to tell?”

“Well, no…but it’s the thought that counts.”

“She was kinda wigged.”

Oh, that was interesting. “Was she?”

“Sharing her earthly woes with the Evil Dead? I’d say so.”

Spike grinned. “So she turned around to share her earthly woes about sharing her earthly woes with the likes of me…with the likes of you?”

“Well, yeah. That’s how we work, in case you haven’t noticed.” Harris leaned over the table to observe Spike’s alignment. “Sorry for pointing out the obvious. Are you ever going to take that shot?”

“What? Anxious to lose some more?”

“No, I’m getting bored. And, unlike you, I don’t have forever to waste in dingy corners with melanin -deprived non-citizens.”

“Lest I remind you, this entire male-bonding exercise was your soddin’ idea.”

“Just take the damn shot, Spike!”

Spike chuckled softly and chose his angle, then circled the table once again in a manner that was, as all things, intentionally condescending. “Haven’t we gone over this before?” he asked rhetorically. “You show that somethin’ bothers you, and I’m inspired to do it. You’re only hurtin’ yourself, Harris.”

“Yeah, well, Myself is getting pretty—”

“Anxious. Right. Caught it.” Spike took his shot and sank another ball, shaking his head. “Just don’t see why you’re all eager to watch me win spectacularly.”

“It’s not like we bet money.”

“Right.Otherwiseyou’d have to take out a bloody loan.”

Xander sighed and dropped his pool stick. “While you perfect your non-monetary compensating shot, I’ll be refreshing my drink. Notice how I said _my_ drink. You’re officially on your own.”

“You do that,” Spike agreed. “Though I wager you’d probably get a better response from the barkeep if you have this on your person.” Again, he flashed a smile and held up the Xander’s wallet.

Harris grumbled, stomped over, and snatched it back. “Stop doing that!”

Spike chuckled and shook his head, puffing at his cigarette as he measured his next take. The game was nearing completion and Harris had all but stood on the sidelines for the majority of it. And while not much had come of it, Spike had to admit—however begrudgingly—that he was enjoying himself. With Stay Puft. At the Bronze.

Who would have thought?

“You know what I can’t figure out,” came her voice said from behind, “is why you gave the wallet back in the first place. Isn’t stealing sort of your thing?”

Spike snickered and turned to face her. “I just gave him the covering,” he explained, digging into his duster and retrieving the more-important cash with a showy grin. “He’ll be backforthe green in a minute. How long you been there gawkin’, Summers?”

“You tell me. Bylastcheck, you’re still a vampire, right?”

“If you want me to flash a little fang, love, all you gotta do is ask.”

Buffy made a face. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that and go right tothe meignoring you.”

“Oi now. That’s rich. You’re the one who came over here, after all.”

“Sorry. I just saw you and Xander, didn’t hear any loud yelling and wondered if you two were under a very bad spell or very drunk and forgetting that you hate each other.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is that what’s got your knickers in a twist? Christ, Slayer, we’re just playing a round of pool. Doesn’t require your policing. No need to make a big thing outta it.”

She smiled, and it wasn’t pleasant. Rather, it was the same look he had grown accustomed to seeing over the past two years. Bland, irritated, and completely repelled by his entire being. “I just wanted to remind you that a good dusting is still on the menu for any move you make that’s not to my liking.”

“Bloody hell, you must  _really_ be bored.” Spike grinned, taking a seat at the end of the table and tapping the tip of his fag lightly. “Patrol still as painfully dull as it was the last time I had the oh-so-pleasurable delight of your company?”

A sigh rolled off her body, taking her hostility with it. He wasn’t so daft as to believe it wouldn’t come back, but this was at least progress.

“Watchers are coming,” she said. “For reasons that are going to remain well beyond me. They have information on Glory.”

She didn’t seem nearly as happy as she should, given that any leads were very much needed.

Spike gestured. “And…? Isn’t this a good thing? You are the hero of this bit, last I checked. Information usually leads to—”

“Did you completely go deaf and not hear the ‘they’re coming’ part? As in here? I hate the Watchers. They’re…” She made a face, and he found it adorable. Then he consequentially cursed himself for finding any part of her adorable, but the damage was done and had been for a long time. “Every time they come here, they try to have me killed.”

“Oh, my kind of gents.”

Of course, if any of them so much as looked at her in a way he didn’t see fitting, he’d kill them all. Chip be damned. But she didn’t need to know that.

Ever.

When he saw that his teasing hadn’t made her give him one of her patented _Annoyed Buffy_ looks, Spike felt something inside him twist unpleasantly. He stood and took a step toward her. “This is just a review though,” he said. “It’s not like they’re gonna try to keep you from doing your job.”

“I know. It’s justsort’ve…” Buffy paused, frowned, and looked him over. “Dear God, I’m doing it again.”

“Huh’s that?”

“Talking…just forget it.”

Spike froze, looked her over.

And grinned.

“Slayer,” he cooed, taking a step toward her. “Don’t tell me you’re on the bloody prowl. Whatsa matter? Missin’ Captain Cardboard so much that you go out to chat up the first bloke—”

“If you value your existence, you will stop talking. Now.”

“Oi, I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need you or your help.”

“You’re the one who came over here, love.”

“To make sure—”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Tell me another one. Listen, Slayer, I’m frightfully sorry, butthere’sabout a thousand other things I’d rather do than listen to you lecture me about frequenting the bar scene just because I suddenly make you skittish. Not my bloody problem.”

A look that could potentially freeze Hell and end world hunger in the same stroke claimed her features that he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away. And had it not been for Xander’s shout of, “Spike! Money! Now!”, the moment might have had a chance to expand.

As it was, Spike figured that to be his cue to leave. He gave a quick nod to his lady fair and headed for the door.

“Spike.”

He paused, dug a hand into his duster pocket, slammed Xander’s cash on the table, then continued on without looking back.


	6. The Black Cat

She was sitting in his chair, facing the door, when he entered the crypt that night.

Time froze in that way it did in the movies—at least for him. In his world, there was the weird and the bug-shagging insane. This was the latter.

This went against the sodding rules. The only rules he cared to live by.

Vampires dusted after being staked. The only exception to said rule thus far was Angel, and he hadn’t been staked properly. As the story went, the Slayer had run him through with some enchanted sword and Acathla had taken him to Hell. The Powers had got involved and revived him because he was their almighty champion or some other rot. Angel hadn’t dusted, therefore the fact that he was walking and annoying today wasn’t impossible. Weird, yes. Unfair, absolutely. But not impossible.

Darla, on the other hand, had bit the actual dust. Spike hadn’t been there to see it firsthand, but news had a way of traveling, especially when one slept next to Drusilla. She’d started wailing and moaning about how Daddy had gone to the circus where the lights were too bright and how he’d become so ensnared by an acrobat that he’d staked grandmum to win her over. The acrobat would kill him eventually, but for now, she was satisfied. Because grandmum was dead.

Only she wasn’t. Not completely. Darla, looking quite well and most assuredly not dust, was comfortably lounged in his very own chair, grinning at him as he entered his own bloody tomb.

Spike blinked and looked at her for a moment. “Well,” he said at last. “There’s somethin’ you don’t see…ever.”

“William. So glad that you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“Yeah. Could say the same to you. By the way, what the bleedin’ hell are you doing here?”

Darla shrugged, tossing a leg over the arm of the chair and folding her hands behind her head. “I was just in the neighborhood. Wanted to see how my dear grandson was doing. Or are you my brother now? Honestly, the Order has become a freaking redneck joke. It’s disturbing when you think about it.”

“Disturbing. Yeah. Kinda like you being in my crypt when you’re supposed to be dead.” Spike took a hesitant step forward, reaching for his cigarettes almost as a nervous habit. “You are real, aren’t you?”

“Do I look real?”

“I’ve seen quite a few numbers that looked to be real in my time.”

“Well, I can’t blame you for asking. You did spend the better part of a century with a lunatic.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And you were with Angelus for how long?”

Darla grinned, which had never inspired him with confidence. “Long enough. As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m here. More or less.”

“You don’t say.”

“Ever heard of a little law firm in Los Angeles called Wolfram and Hart?”

“Greatest known evil on the face of the planet, right?” Spike strolled to the sarcophagus, giving Darla a quick once over again. He half expected her to fade away—the image of some ghastly hangover that he would pay for come morning.

Only tonight he hadn’t drunk himself silly.

“If you don’t count census takers and insurance salesmen,” she replied in the same tone. “They brought me back.”

Ah, sense was being made. Wolfram and Hart  _did_ have the means to extract such potent magic and certainly didn’t have any reservations concerning the dangers in manipulating the natural order. 

“Good for them.”

“Three guesses why.”

He rolled his eyes. Of bloody course. “King Forehead, I’m presuming,” Spike replied. He moved without awaiting a reply to the other side of the crypt, still put off by her presence. “What’s the story?”

She shrugged. “They wanted Angelus.”

“And they went with you.”

“They also wanted to drive him crazy.”

“Well, by having you revived, I’m guessing they played their cards right.” Spike grinned cheekily and reached into the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of half-consumed bourbon. “Drink?”

“What?”

“Do you wanna drink? Got some cold blood, but something tells me that you aren’t quite on the same diet I am.” When she failed to acknowledge his offer, he shrugged and took a long swig. “Right then. Suit yourself.”

There was a long silence. Darla finally stood and brushed herself off.

“So, this is what you do now,” she said, glancing around. “You’ve nested quite nicely. Conveniently near the Slayer. And yet she’s still alive. Still annoying, still slaying. You disappoint me. Surely this is not the work of the great William the Bloody, renowned Slayer of Slayers. Petulant braggart.” She grinned nastily. “What’s wrong,  _Spikey?_ Waiting to make just the right move?”

Her words cut, but he made an effort not to show it. “Why waste a good thing is my bloody motto,” he replied. “Got me a sweet little set-up. Bunches and bunches of tasty towners, a good brawl here and there, and a Slayer who keeps me on my toes. Finally took a page outta your own bloody book, Darla. Slow deaths are ever so much more fun.”

“Hmmm,” she replied. “Interesting. And here, I could’ve sworn your incompetence was due to the government chip some frat boys shoved in your cranium. Really, William, it was an honest mistake.”

Spike’s face fell. Despite the time that had passed, being reminded of that never failed to piss him off. It was bad enough enduring Xander’s insipid nicknames and Buffy’s constant ridicule. “What, the bloody Initiative take out an advert or something?”

“I know I would have. That’s so  _priceless._ ”

“Uh huh. Thanks for the reminder. You’re free to see yourself out.”

Darla grinned and spread her arms. “Why would I want to leave when I’m so comfortable here?”

“I could escort you out if you’re having such a hard time of it.”

“You couldn’t.”

“This chip stops me from manhandling humans, pet. You’re fair game.”

“I know that. You couldn’t.”

There was really nothing to say to that. She was right. Darla was the oldest vamp he knew, no matter if she’d recently been rehatched. She looked, smelled, and sounded the same. It was a safe bet she’d retained enough memories to thoroughly kick his ass if he gave her a reason. “Right…” he drawled in defeat, hating himself. “Not to sound bored…or wait, I don’t care. What brings you to ole SunnyD? Last I checked, Wolfram and Hart’s up in LA with your honey. You shouldn’t have taken that left at Albuquerque.”

“Angel and I have already had our heart-to-heart. I thought it better to check up on old acquaintances.”

“Y’know, you shoulda taken a snap of his face. He’s not keen on being expressive, but I’m guessing you got him wiggling a bit.”

Darla grinned. “It was rather amusing.”

“Still doesn’t answer my question. You and I aren’t exactly fond of each other. Why take time out of your busy Angel-pestering schedule to visit yours truly?”

“Right to the chase, then?”

“Just the way I fancy it.”

“Very well.” Darla licked her lips. “I have a proposition for you.”

Spike arched an eyebrow.

“Wolfram and Hart’s modus operandi has changed drastically since they brought me back. Prior to his…well, I would say untimely death, but I thought the timing was just right—Holland Manners had organized a rather interesting proposal.” She crossed her arms, awaiting a response and frowning when he offered none. As though his silence was a terrific insult to both her and their kind. “Evidently, he had plans to reassemble the Order of Aurelius.”

Spike blinked. “Well now. Ambitious bloke, isn’t he? Show Angel the light, so to speak, coax Dru back and bribe me with pretty words and frillies?” He scoffed and shook his head. “Good luck finding Dru. Last time I saw her, she—”

“She’s in town.”

Okay. Wasn’t expecting that. “She’s what?”

“When Wolfram and Hart brought me back, there was an unfortunate mortal twist. They sent me to Angel a sniveling, whining, pitifully soul-inflicted squashed cabbage leaf. They also sent me dying of syphilis.” A look of pure hatred filled her eyes. “When he refused to sire me because of his poor tortured conscience, they brought in someone who would.”

Spike couldn’t help but stare. “So…Dru vamped you?”

“That she did.”

Then he couldn’t help himself. He grinned. “Betcha just can’t stand it. You were never her number one fan.”

“Aside from you and Angel, I can’t think of anyone who was.”

He shrugged. “Chaos demons, apparently. So Dru’s on board. Is that your big selling point? Trying to lure ole Spike with the ex-missus? Not very original, is it?”

Darla smiled sweetly. The same kind of sweet laced with cyanide. “Let’s get one thing very, very clear,  _Willy.”_ She leaned forward and her eyes drew to two fine daggers. He would never doubt their edge. “I don’t give a flying fuck if you come with us or stay here, the laughing stock of the Order. The only one of us  _fool_ enough to allow himself to become the guinea pig of some boys in white coats. A  _lab rat._ You’re a disgrace to our kind. Always have been. The only reason I see having  _any_ benefit to your addition is a potential distraction for Dru while Angelus and I tear the city apart.”

Spike prowled forward. “Is that right?” he asked coldly. “Well, that works out just dandy. Dru’s made it up and clear that I don’t hold her interest anymore, and I can think of about a thousand other things I’d rather do than watch you and dear ol’ Granddad shag each other’s brains out. If you haven’t heard, things with me and Angelus weren’t exactly rosey when he took his magical mystery tour to Hell.”

“That’s right. You sided with the Slayer.”

“Preferable to siding with the likes of you.” He snickered and nodded toward the door. “Why don’t you sod off? Get Dru, tell her no deal, and get the hell outta town before the Slayer—”

“What? Finds out?” Darla crossed her hands primly. “You see, sweetie, that’s another one of the perks. If your lovely former’s following protocol—and trust me, I’m not holding my breath—your Slayer’s night has taken a turn for the interesting.”

Spike froze. “What?”

“Another delightful twist to Holland’s vision. Evidently, this little proposal includes a deal concerning your very own heart’s desire. Drusilla, naturally, suggested that we find her and drop something heavy on her head.” Darla shuddered slightly. “You’d think immortality would strengthen my tolerance for such tomfoolery. It hasn’t.”

There wasn’t room for consideration. Spike stormed over, grabbed Darla by the shoulders, and gave her one good, hard shake. “Where is she?” he demanded. “What’s she doing to Buffy?”

Darla didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. She just studied him before throwing her head back with a long cackle. “Oh my god!” she exclaimed in glee. “It’s worse than I thought. Wow, you are _pathetic_.”

“Shut the bloody hell up. Where is she?”

“Do you have so little faith in your precious Slayer that you think Dru poses a threat? After all, she has managed to school  _you_ rather effectively.” Darla shook her head, laughing still. “Of course, you never resorted Rohypnol, did you? No, no. Our Spike must have his fair fight. It’s that sort of thinking that got you all chipped up with no place to go in the first place.”

“You’re…” He closed his eyes in an effort to maintain some semblance of control. “You’re plannin’ to  _drug_ the bloody Slayer?”

Darla shrugged. “All a part of Holland’s great vision. He truly was ahead of his time. Angelus will be most pleased.”

“I—”

“Oh yes. He’s already in the game. Fully stocked. Likely tearing that living practical joke that is Angel Investigations apart right now.” She grinned and hoisted herself onto the abandoned sarcophagus. “It’s left to you, my dear. Lindsey, my little puppet, has assured me that finding means to eradicate you of your…condition won’t be very difficult at all, given Wolfram and Hart’s connections. So you see, Spike, it’s a win-win situation. No chip, Drusilla, and even a slayer to play with on the weekends.”

But he was hardly listening to her—his mind racing. Buffy was still at the Bronze most likely. On a Friday night with patrol as slow as it had been all week, going home early was probably not on the agenda. If he left now, he might be able to stop whatever Drusilla had planned.

_Or your arrival might look bloody convenient._

He didn’t have time to care about how it looked. While Buffy was resilient, she wouldn’t expect a date rape drug.

Without realizing it, he had set off for the door, strides heavy and intent. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Darla asked.

Spike stopped at the door and glanced over his shoulder. “Go home.”

“You’re really going to do it, aren’t you? Go after your precious  _Buffy_?”

“If I come back and you’re still here, you crazed bint, I’m gonna tear your bloody head off. Understand?”

There was an amused chuckle. “Do you really think you could?”

“Do you really wanna find out?”

There was another laugh and nothing more. He took that as enough of an answer and left.

He was running before the door had closed.

*~*~*

The moment he arrived back at the Bronze, Spike was amazed that he hadn’t noticed the scent before. How something once so familiar and comforting to him could have been missed at all. The area around the Bronze stunk of Drusilla, pulling on that innate tie he had with her, and would always have no matter how close they weren’t anymore. His skin tingled as he approached the Bronze’s entrance. He did not know if he was ready to see what awaited him inside.

It was foolish to worry about the Slayer. After all, she had powers he had only dreamed of. Though Dru had claimed the life of one slayer, Spike knew—trusted—that she’d be no match for Buffy.

She was the best. No bloody doubt.

But dammit, he wasn't supposed to worry about her.

He wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to rush here to save her bloody life from his bloody ex. He was supposed to watch with glee as she was ripped apart piece by piece.

The thought had his demon snarling.

Spike took one step inside and felt his concern melt away.

Buffy was as he left her, more or less. She was hunched over the bar, talking to Willow and Xander, her gorgeous face alit with laughter. 

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to feeling his body relax with relief at the sight of her unharmed. She was giggling, chatting, and completely out of his reach.

So fucking perfect.

“Oh look,” Xander said once he spotted him. “It’s Return of the Evil Undead. You do know that you abandoned a perfectly good game of pool…and that I consequentially won by default.”

Spike ignored him, keeping his focus on Buffy. There was still no sign of Drusilla, but he knew her well enough to know she wasn’t far. “Everythin’ here all right?” 

Buffy shot him a painfully fake smile. “Well,” she began, “it was until you showed up. Again. You know, I was getting really attached to that thing that happens when you’re not around. The sheer contentment that is me.

Nope, nothing wrong here.

“Slayer, my deep apologies. I didn’t realize your cycle was due to start. If I’d known, I woulda run for cover before the bomb dropped.”

“Hey, Spike,” Willow greeted before Buffy could scream at him. “What’s up? Nothing of the evil nature to do tonight?”

“I got a lead,” he replied. “A little birdie dropped by my crypt. Dru’s in town.”

A still beat settled over the group.

“Dru’s in town?” Xander repeated. He turned to Buffy. “Those vamps that were here earlier didn’t seem to be under the influence of anyone particularly…well…insane, did they?”

“Vamps?”

“Yeah,” Xander answered airily. “There were a few. No big, though. There was slayage action, then we resumed the typical Bronze-bashing that was us. Excluding you presence, though, which, bonus.” He held up a hand before the vampire could speak. “And for the record, all attempts made by myself to bury the hatchet became null and void the minute you left our game. That was a one-shot opportunity, buddy. Too bad for you that you missed out.”

“So it would seem,” he answered, glancing around the Bronze. It was bloody hard to know if Dru was near with so many people lounging about, but he was entirely too self-conscious now to move. As though his very presence endangered them. Of course, Drusilla was the jealous type. If she saw him lurking around the Slayer, she’d go right batty.

“So, back to the big.” Harris cleared his throat. “Dru’s in town?”

Spike blinked and looked at him, annoyed. “Yes, Special Ed. Need me to repeat that in your good ear?”

“So what are you doing here…with the panicky face and the asking how everyone is?” Xander gestured. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere canoodling? Or is that too personal a question?”

Oh right. Spike’s shoulders fell a bit at that. This had to look a bit awkward.

“Don’t patronize him, Xander,” Buffy intervened, her voice saccharine. “Now that Spikey’s been neutered, he’s probably a bit embarrassed to be seen around her.” She flashed another smile. “Either that or the sleeping with Harmony.”

Buffy was out for blood tonight. Extra bitey to compensate for all the unnatural bonding that had been occurring as of late.

_Bitch_.

“Whatever.” Spike rolled his eyes and turned to leave. “Pardon a bloke for caring. Though, if she does decide to show, tell her to rip your innards out real good for yours truly. Or to at least drop a line, so I can come and bathe in your blood, even if it isn’t me doing the spillin’.”

He was gone again before anyone could offer a final word.

_Bloody ungrateful wankers._

Definitely the last time he stuck his neck out for the likes of them.

Well, at least this week.

**  
**


	7. Everybody's Fool

Fucking perfect.

“What is this?” Spike snarled, casting his duster to the vacant chair as he stormed into his crypt. “Have I turned into a bloody Holiday Inn? Is there a vacancy sign advertising a room in large neon letters that I missed? What the  _hell_ makes you birds think you can waltz in and out of here as you please?”

Yelling at Dru typically yielded one of two results—rage or mopey pouting. Tonight it was the latter. When she jutted out her lower lip and looked at him with her large, beguiling eyes, Spike’s instincts kicked in, and he had to remind himself that he was angry. A century’s worth of habit was bloody hard to break. After all, she had been the love of his unlife.

She had also ripped his heart out, stomped on it twice for good measure, and sent him back to Sunnyhell where he’d lost said heart to his enemy.

 _That’s right._  It was Dru’s fault he was in love with the Slayer.

And now she was in his crypt, standing where he’d left Darla, who he knew, thanks to his nose, had vacated the premises.

Funny. Just a few months ago, Spike would have killed to see Dru here.

Now all he wanted was for her to get the fuck out of town.

Drusilla fidgeted, but like everything with her, the movement was calculated. She played helpless and coy when she was anything but. He wouldn’t fall for it again. ”Are you not pleased to see me?”

Spike snickered and marched forward. This was turning into a bloody weird night.

“Don’t miss anything, do you, love? Did the pixies tell you that, or were you able to work it out on your own?”

“I thought grandmum had talked with you. She did not mention you being cross.” Drusilla grinned one of her dark, seductive grins and danced toward him. “Do you want to punish me, William? Have I been awfully bad?”

“I really can’t stand for more of this, you know. You wanna run amuck? Fine. Got your own bloody town, haven’t you?” He caressed his brow, feeling a headache coming on. “Just bugger off, Dru. Take Darla and get the hell back to Los Angeles. I’m sure there’s plenty of fun to be had there.”

She whimpered. “My boy does not want to come to the circus? There’s a great big elephant, you know. And the acrobats have begun their stretches.”

“Good for them. Get out.”

Her pout intensified. Again, he was struck with how much had changed over such a short period. But Spike was wiser now, and he knew what she was trying to do. All she was accomplishing was pissing him off.

He’d spent too much time being manipulated by her. Used. Abused. Her bloody stand-in when Angelus wasn’t available.

These were things he’d always known but managed to overlook. Not anymore.

Even if loving Buffy was unnatural and wrong, it had at least opened his eyes where Dru was concerned.

“You don’t mean that,” Dru cooed. “Didn’t grandmum tell you our delightful plan? What fun it will be? Round and round we go. We’ll stay on the carousel even when our mummies and daddies shake their fingers at us. We’re very bad children. Naughty. Shhhh.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah. The ole bag laid full load on me. Bloody Angel has gone the way of the Dark Side and now the lot of you want to get the band back together. I’m telling you the same thing I told her: not interested.”

Dru released a long, ear-splitting whine. “You really don’t want to come?”

Spike arched an eyebrow but didn’t respond.

And cue righteous fit. Dru dropped the seductress routine at once, pressing her hands to her ears as she began to moan in earnest. “Poor Spike. My poor, poor Spike. Left here in the cold when everyone else gets their cookies and milk. We’re going off and the little birdies will eat all the crumbs if we leave you any to follow.”

“Fine by me. I won’t be following.”

“I don’t want to,” she complained. “Not without my prince.”

“Learn to live with disappointment.” Spike snickered and moved toward the chair where he’d tossed his duster to fish out a half-smoked pack of cigarettes. “Know I did.”

“Are you still sore? Mummy could kiss it better.”

He shook his head and lit up. “Snooze you lose, love. You walked out on me, didn’t you? Mummy’s kisses have turned bloody sour.”

She blinked slowly as though confused.

Spike sighed, his anger tipping up a notch. “You walked out on me, you crazed bint! I did everything I could for you! Every single day for a sodding century!” He tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “Bloody well worshiped the ground you walked on. Gave you  _everything_ you ever asked me for. Bent over backwards to make sure you were happy. And where the  _fuck_ did it get me? Here! In Sunnyhell with a blasted chip up my skull. The Slayer’s bloody punch-line is what I am now. Not only that, I’m forced to play nice with the other puppies ‘cause it’s the only way I can get a decent spot of violence. And  _now_  you want me back? To come with you? For what? I might not like what’s become of me, but I’ve bloody well adjusted. Making the bleeding most of it. You have some nerve to try and win me back after you bloody well  _did_ this to me.”

Drusilla whimpered again, wiping her eyes of fake tears. “I’m here to save you, my sweet. To make everything all right again. I’ve felt you calling. All alone, whispering and clawing at the dark. My prince…trapped in a prison of electricity where the nasty fence shocks you when you touch the wire.”

“So, yeah…news travels.”

“The big bad lawyers told me. They whispered all sorts of nasty lies.” She neared until she was all but pressed against him, flooding him with her familiar scent. She nuzzled the crook of his neck. “But the stars, my sweet. They tell the greatest lie of all. They said that you had gone away from me. So far that I cannot reach you. So far into the dark where my help cannot lead you back to where you belong.”

Spike snickered and moved aside. “You lost interest in trying to reach me years ago. The only reason you’re here is to make your precious Daddy happy. Sorry, sweets. I’ve had my fair share of that scene, and I’m not looking for a repeat.”

“Not even for your princess?”

That was bloody rich.

“Face it, Dru. You stopped bein’ my princess a long time ago.”

Someone unaccustomed to her random mood swings would have been taken for a loop. As it was, he had more than his fair share of experience. When she fell to her knees and began moaning again, shaking violently, he just watched, impassive.

“You…you stink of her!” she cried, scrubbing her hands down her arms, chest, and face as though trying to rid her skin of an unwanted residue. “She’s all over you. Filthy, rotten girl. Stealing my William. But she leaves you in shadows so that she can dance. You’re in the shadows now. With me.”

“You came to me, love. So, yeah. I got myself a little problem concerning a girl that will, for the sake of this conversation, remain nameless. It’s your fault, anyway. You should’ve known a catch like me wouldn’t stay on the market long after we parted ways.” He managed a semi-cocky smile. “Did you think I’d wait around for you to come to your senses?”

“She’s…” Her face crumpled with disgust. He knew that feeling well—he’d had it every moment of his own realization of where his heart lay. He’d continue to have it until Buffy finally snuffed it or he met his dust.

“She’s a slayer, my lovely,” Dru mewled. “A nasty, wicked girl. Oh…my skin is crawling all over. Crawling, crawling…” She started scratching at her flesh madly, a crazed gleam stealing over her face. “Make it stop! Make it stop!”

Spike had the decency to look sheepish. “Oi. No one’s bragging here.”

“I cannot see you. You’re lost in the woods and I cannot take you home.” She paused, then cried out the next minute, clutching at her stomach.

This time when the habit kicked in, Spike didn’t fight it. He was too exhausted to put in the effort. He knelt beside her and hauled her against him, doing what he’d always done—offer stability where she lacked it.

The familiar trembling lasted only a moment, but she kept her grip on him. “The big bad wolf is coming for you, my Spike. All alone, lost in the woods. Galloping, galloping, and here he comes.”

A flawless eyebrow perched. “Something’s coming to get me?” he asked. “Think your timing’s a little off, sweetheart.”

“But no…it’s coming for the both of you.” Then her mood changed again, only this time it made his stomach drop. The smile that stretched across her face was familiar, and it couldn’t mean anything good. Not where he and Buffy were concerned, at least. “Ooh, isn’t that pretty? You should really see it, my darling. The stars are painting such lovely colors. And now…the sky is about to open. No one can stop the lark from singing. Sweet nightingale. Born to the night, just as we are. Singing sweetly until the nasty lark comes to chase you off. Bad lark. The sun will do nasty things to you when she wakes.” With another demented cackle, she opened her shining eyes and beamed at him. “You have been a very bad doggie,” she scolded, performing the international sign for ‘shame on you’ before bringing her finger to her lips. “No treats for the bad doggies, you hear? No, no…no treats at all.

Spike sighed. This was getting really old really fast. “You’ve heard my answer, love,” he said with every last strain of patience that he could muster. “And I’ve had my fair share of nightly visitors. Go tell Darla no deal. I want no part of this.”

“But I have a secret,” she cooed. “Miss Edith told me not to share. She’ll be so disappointed if I break my word. But I’m cross with her. She whispers lies against the night wind and makes it impossible for the children to have their cake and milk.”

Another sigh. Experience cautioned that it was better during such spells to simply humor her. “All right, love. All right. What did Miss Edith tell you?”

In the next instant, Drusilla fell to her knees again and straddled her wrists, raven hair flying back as her eyes narrowed with glee. “The beast is coming for you,” she informed him, rocking back and forth. “Scampering down hallways, looking over the corridors. You aren’t as sneaky as you think. No, no. Not nearly enough time. No. We don’t want to make the King of Cups unhappy. That won’t do at all. Oooohh!” She threw her head back as if in the throes of orgasm. “My Daddy likes to play. He and grandmum want to taste her blood. They will pour it down every hallway and dance naked under the moonlight. He is a vulture, circling around the dead. And you…” She centered her gaze on him. “You are the lark, and he is going to make you bleed all over.”

There was one thing Spike knew for certain—a jealous Drusilla jealous was a dangerous Drusilla. His feelings for Buffy were bad enough—implicating Angelus would likely push her over the proverbial edge.

But Angelus wouldn’t turn Buffy. He had more brains than that. If he wanted her in Los Angeles, it was for one reason and one reason alone.

It was rather unnerving, knowing that he would stake Drusilla here and now if it’d put an end to whatever scheme she and Darla were hatching. Unnerving to know that he was so lost that he was willing to sacrifice more than a hundred years of history to save something that would never be his. Buffy was untouchable and he accepted that. He’d accepted that the morning he awoke from that godawful— _bloody fantastic_ —dream. The morning he first realized his true feelings. Even if he played by every one of her sodding rules, she’d never be his.

While that much hurt, it did rot to change things. Drusilla had been his savior; Buffy was redemption in itself. And to protect her, he would do anything, even stake his sire. He would defy the natural order. He would do anything to protect the Slayer. 

Hell, he was a rebel, after all.

“Pet,” Spike said slowly, edging forward. He knew her well enough to know that the slightest thing could trigger a violent fit. “Y’don’t know what you’re getting into here. There’s…stuff in motion that you can’t stop. You and Darla and Angelus can be as bloody chaotic as you please in dear ole LA. I—”

She held up a hand up, quivering and no longer smiling. “I see you,” she whimpered. “Nasty little jibes. Dancing all on your lonesome. You’d kill for her…” Drusilla caressed her own lips as if to wipe away the words that left them. “You’d kill your princess?”

“Dru—”

“You’d…” And then she was disgusted, scratching at her skin once more. The face of a leper without his disease. That was his girl, all right. “You’d die for her. Nasty, nasty William. Reeking of the Slayer. She stinks you up, she does. Perfuming her  _good intentions_ all over.”

“You and Darla…” He sighed. At this rate, it’d be sunrise before he got her out of here, then he’d be stuck with her all bloody day. “You just need to go back. I’ve told you my part. The answer’s no. Bloody carnage, sod all. Got me plenty of that here.” Except for the chip, of course. The nagging voice in the back of his head warned him that he was close to talking himself out of his own excuse. Except he knew he wasn’t. As much as he hated the chip, getting it out didn’t seem nearly as important as it once had. He hadn’t given it much thought at all since the night that everything changed for him. And that was the way it was. “Just doesn’t hold the same thrill for me anymore.”

“I’ve wrecked you,” Dru whimpered. “I’ve turned you inside out and all the birdies tear at your ribbons until there is nothing left but spoiled milk.”

“Yeah well, your bad, pet.” Spike spread his arms. “I’m a taken bloke. I might be bloody ruined, but I’m taken.”

Drusilla sniffled. “Grandmum will be most displeased.”

“Piffle.  _Grandmum_ doesn’t give two bloody pisses about me. Never has. She made herself quite clear when she was…” Spike trailed off, something horrible occurring to him.  “Dru,” he said sharply, parading over to his dark maker and grasping her by the shoulders and giving her one good shake. “Where’s Darla?”

She blinked. A long, annoyingly tame blink.

He shook her again, harder this time. “Where. Is. Darla?”

Another blink. Then slowly, she smiled.

“Grandmum went for a stroll,” Drusilla singsonged, pulling free of his grip. “She wanted to dance under the moonlight and taste the delights off the candy-coated tree. They are quite nummy, as I recall. Loads and loads of sweets to eat. Apples, plums, and—”

“Did you do something?” 

“My prince asks—”

“Bugger your sodding prince!” Spike’s demon scratched the surface, aching to be freed. “You’re understanding me, Dru. I know that look. Stop skittering around the question an’ answer me. Darla mentioned something about some drug. One that’s popular among date rapists and the like.” He edged closer, his inner demon roaring louder still. “You were at the Bronze tonight, weren’t you? The place was crawling with—”

“I remember the Bronze,” she replied with a cryptic smile. “We used to go dancing. All of us. Remember that, William?”

“Actually, you and Angelus would go dancing. I’d watch from the bloody sidelines. On. With. It.” He paused. “The lackeys…Harris mentioned there were a few—”

“Ooohh! My boy’s getting it! Closer, closer, please! You’re almost there.” The grin on her face grew wider, and she was practically bursting with glee. “You mustn’t be cross with us, Spike. Grandmum assured me it was all for you. And I do so want to do right by you, my sweet. To make everything the way it should be.” She brought her hands behind her head and thrust her pelvis against him. “Grandmum always knows best.”

Then he knew.

_He knew._

“Buffy.”

“She’s gone!” Drusilla cried, clapping her hands together. “Ring around the rosey, pockets full of posey, the nasty Slayer is gone! Oh, we’re going to have such fun with her!”

“This was all Darla’s fixing. She knew I’d…” In all his years, he didn’t reckon he’d ever felt any thicker than he did at that minute. “She knew that I’d race across town the moment she mentioned that you were after her.”

It was useless attempting to make conversation with Drusilla. She’d checked out, now twirling in circles and cackling like mad. “It’s just as I thought it would be!” She stopped just as suddenly as she began without so much as a wobble and fixed her eyes on him. “I’m sorry you do not wish to come with us, my darling. But if you like, I will give the Slayer your regards.”

In days to come, Spike would wonder what had prompted him to let her go that night. He’d remember wishing her dead. He’d remember the charge that seized him, the urge to pop her head off good and proper. To do what he’d wanted to do to her time and time again for ruining him. For sending him here. For making him see the thing he’d been too blind to see. He’d imagined it a thousand ways. A thousand times. Every corner of Drusilla’s demise was etched out and played, stopped, and played again.

But he couldn’t do it. Not that night. Not with his mind spiraling. Dru didn’t stay around to gloat long, anyway. She bid him farewell and danced her way back outside, leaving him to the numbing realization that the decision had been made for him.

_Buffy._

He knew. He knew what he had to do.

Spike was drowning and she was his only way out.

And his deranged family had stolen her from him.

He had no choice but to steal her back.


	8. A Distant Chord

While Spike’s every instinct screamed at him to hit the road and hit the road _now,_ he was able to retain enough levelheadedness to identify that as a bad idea.

Acting first and thinking later was what got people killed. And since _people_ in this case meant _Buffy,_ he could take no chances.

First, he needed to make sure that Dru hadn’t been having him on. That she and Darla had actually nabbed the Slayer and this wasn’t some elaborate ruse, or Angelus’s idea of a funny joke. Then he needed to make sure the Scoobies knew—and if they decided to mount up their own version of the cavalry, not to aim any of their pointy weapons at him.

Wishful bloody thinking, that, but he’d do better to tell them what he knew and what his plan was now than have to explain it while staring at the business end of a stake.

That didn’t even start on the bloody timing of all this. Glory the Wonder Bitch was out and about, running a general muck over things, hunting for the Key—whatever that was. Buffy had complained earlier about the Council swinging by for a visit, too.  To top everything else, Angelus was loose once more, this time with Darla for company.

And if they had Buffy… He shuddered to think of what they would do to her.

Then he _did_ think of it, and the images his mind produced had his demon roaring for blood. If they touched one hair on her head, he’d rip them all to bloody pieces.

The Scoobies would blame him, no doubt. Despite the fact that he and Xander had been getting along for once, that Buffy had been talking to him like a person, that he’d shown up at the Bronze to warn her, her mates would blame him. And they certainly wouldn’t trust him to bring her back. At least there they didn’t get a bloody say. He was the only one who stood a chance of getting close enough to learn where she was.

Spike could only hope the Watcher was thinking clearly enough to recognize this. The others couldn’t hope to come within a stone’s throw of Angelus. LA was not the Hellmouth and Wolfram and Hart wasn’t the run-of-the-mill monster of the week. Those bastards would make search and rescue damn near impossible.

Spike’s first instinct was to swing by Giles’s flat, as it had been Scooby Central most of the previous year, but then he remembered the Magic Box and quickly altered his route. It was well after hours, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that everyone would be sitting at the tables, digging into books and shouting accusations.

The light was on. He was right.

Thanks to their heated debate, Spike walked through the doors unnoticed. Bell and all. The Scoobies were situated awkwardly across the foyer—Anya stationed at her customary location behind the cash register, Xander and Willow taking up table space, Giles at the staircase that led to the restricted section, and Tara in the corner, looking through old volumes of useless information. All of them, save Glenda the Good Witch, red-faced and shouting.

Spike cleared his throat, which wasn’t very effective.

All right. He’d tried for polite.

“Oi!”

Silence immediately descended as all eyes fell on him.

“You!” Xander screamed, jumping to his feet and pointing.

“Yeah, me. Hello all. Just wanted to drop by and say firstly…” He focused on Willow and the whelp. “I bloody told you so. Secondly, I’m gonna be outta town for a few days. I’ll drop you all a line from LA.”

With that, he turned to leave.

If only it could be so simple.

“Stop,” Giles ordered in what Spike assumed was as close to his _Ripper_ voice as he was likely to hear. But when he spoke again, his voice was strained, as though he was trying to be civil. That couldn’t be right. “Spike…you said you saw Drusilla in town earlier tonight?”

Spike turned around, aiming a glare at Harris and the witch. “This right here’s what I meant by _I told you so._ ” He shifted his attention to Giles, who was staring at him with a mixture of desperation and contempt. “I told these two that I got wind that she was in town. Little birdie dropped by my crypt to spread the good news.”

“It was Darla,” Willow said softly. “You saw Darla.”

“Kinda left that part out with your friendly warning,” Xander added bitterly.

Spike’s eyes widened. “Oh, right. ‘Cause you were so keen on believing what I said about Dru that you’d have accepted that a vampire that dusted four years ago is out and about again. No, no. Easier to blame the messenger. Forget that I risked my bloody head racing across town to tip the lot of you off.”

“There isn’t time for finger pointing,” Giles snapped. “Spike, just tell us what you know.”

A sigh. “Y’know, this is just gonna slow me down.”

“Just tell us! Buffy is gone, and for all we know—”

For a moment, all Spike could hear was static. He balled his hands into fists, pounding back the need to roar. So that was that. They had really taken her. He had known it, of course, but hearing it made it real.

“—and the only lead we have is what you told Xander and Willow earlier this evening. Which, by the way…” Giles pivoted furiously to Xander and Willow. “I can’t  _believe_ you neglected to mention something as monumental as Drusilla’s presence in Sunnydale. After all, Spike is—”

“A vampire and completely in love with her,” Xander returned hotly. “One that wants us dead, or have we forgotten? Why should we have believed him? Like he’d really warn us about Dru being in town?”

“It did seem kinda wiggy,” Willow muttered. “But we should’ve listened.”

“You’re bloody right you should have!” Giles snapped. “How unbelievably careless.”

Yeah, Spike thought so too. Hadn’t expected the Watcher to take his side, but there was a first time for everything.

As though sensing that thought, Giles shifted his attention back to him, his eyes narrowed. “Darla visited you.”

It was not a question.

“Yeah,” Spike replied, at once very self-conscious. “Just up and showed outta the bloody blue. Well, more to the fact that she was waitin’ for me to get home. Gave me the low down on how she was mojo’d back to the land of the living, so to speak, and offered me a position with her and Dru back in LA.”

“And  _that_ prompted you to come and warn us?” Xander shook his head. “I’m still not buying it, Bleach Boy. I know we went a round of pool, but that’s not enough to convince me that you wouldn’t wish us dead in a heartbeat.”

“Maybe  _you,”_ Spike snarled. “Listen, I don’t know why I did it, all right?” That was a lie, but a harmless one. They’d freak out even more if he told the truth. “Maybe I’ve been around the lot of you do-gooders too long and something rubbed off. Just know that I’m not yanking any chains here. What you see is what you bloody get. Darla’s involved with this law firm called Wolfram and Hart, who apparently have enough magic juice to raise the undead. They wanted Buffy so the girls came to collect.”

Willow raised her hand. “A law firm called What and What?”

“Wolfram and Hart,” Giles answered.

“Very evil bunch,” Anya added. “Though pleasantly straightforward when conducting business. I used to get a lot of great referral traffic from them.”

And no one seemed that  _that_ statement deserved consideration. Bloody typical.

Spike fixed his eyes on Giles. “You know about them, then?”

“Quite. The Watcher’s Council has kept tabs on Wolfram and Hart ever since it altered shape, back at the turn of the century, I believe.” Giles settled against the counter, his glasses falling into his waiting handkerchief. “They are likely the only force that would have the power to revive a vampire from the beyond.”

“Ummm…” Xander waved a hand. “Are you forgetting about Angel being broken out of Hell? I say that counts.”

“Angel was brought back by the Powers for altruistic purposes. There were circumstances behind it that… Well, it was long and complicated, and I don’t have time to go into it now.” Giles glanced upward. “The Powers would have no such motive to bring back a vampire like Darla, especially since she didn’t have a soul.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s safe to say that the Powers have bollixed everything up squarely,” Spike drawled. “’Cause according to Darla, Angelus is back.”

At that, Willow shot to her feet, her eyes blazing. “Angel boinked Darla? Was he outta his mind?”

Spike couldn’t keep from snickering. “There are other, less pleasant ways to lose a soul, way I hear it.”

“Mayor Wilkins attempted to remove his soul through a mage,” Giles said. “Chances are, Wolfram and Hart have similar connections.”

“They wanted the Order back in full,” Spike continued. “And they wanted the Slayer.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, but Darla thought it was a bloody brilliant idea.” Spike shook his head again. “I don’t know exactly how it all went down. When I got to my crypt that first time, Darla was there. Gave me the sale’s pitch along with the full sorry plan. Even offered to rid me of my zapper.” He pointed at his cranium. “Then she mentioned Dru and—”

“I  _so_ do not like where this is going,” Xander interjected. “What  _possible_ reason would have you turn that down? The chip included? Hell, I’m not evil and it’s sounding like a good deal to  _me._ Something’s not right here. Something’s  _really_ not right.”

“He has a point,” Tara offered from the corner, speaking for the first time since Spike had arrived. “No offense or anything, but you really don’t have a reason to be here at all, do you?”

He had a reason. By God, he had a reason. He just knew it was wrong and wouldn’t win him any friends.

“It’s personal,” he replied, hoping that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

“What’s personal?” Harris was all but screaming now. “Drusilla and Darla waltz into town, offer you everything you’ve said you wanted for over a year, and you say that you had  _nothing_ to do with it?”

“I didn’t.”

Willow intervened at that, her tone less demanding, but equally concerned. “Then why didn’t you mention this earlier? If you’d said Darla was alive—”

Fuck. This again?

“Do any of you listen or do you just sit around waiting to for some schmuck to stick with the blame?” The hold he had on his temper had all but vanished. “I already told you why I didn’t mention Darla, and what of it? You’re the bloody sods who lost your Slayer! I did what I could. I came as soon as I got word, and why the _bleeding hell_ would I show my face here if I’d had anything to do with Buffy being nabbed? Do you see a _please stake me_ sign anywhere?”

Willow at least had the decency to look a little chagrined at that. Xander just glared.

Spike sighed. He needed to get a hold of himself. He had more he needed to say—or rather, more they needed to hear—and despite how bloody good it felt, screaming wouldn’t accomplish anything.

“Listen, I didn’t come here to waste time squabbling.” He began backing for the door once more. “Even if I knew it was sodding inevitable. The lot of you have your fair share to worry with here. Nibblet, deranged Glory bint, Council of Wankers.”

Giles narrowed his eyes. “How do you know about that?”

“Slayer told me earlier,” Spike replied. “Look, I told Dru and Darla no, but I’m the only one here who has a stone’s throw chance in hell to get close to enough to get Buffy out. So I’m heading to LA—”

“That’s. It.” Harris kicked in his chair and rounded the table, his eyes blazing. “You know how much I trust you? Zero. That’s how much. You go from hijacking doctors to get the chip out of your head so you can kill Buffy to telling us you’re the only hope for getting her back in like a _month_ and we’re just supposed to buy it? When have you _ever_ wanted to play the hero?”

“That right there is the difference between the likes of and the likes of me,” Spike replied. “I don’t aim to _play_ anything.”

“So you _are_ a hero now?”

“I’m the bloke who can get in. You wanna offer yourself up, Harris? You won’t make it past the front desk before they chuck you out.” He motioned to the rest of them. “Don’t guess any of you lot got an invite to join in the mayhem. These lawyers aren’t your average baddies. Hell, Glory might be on their sodding payroll for all we know. You go in and you get dead. Fat lotta good that’ll be to the Slayer. Like it or not, I’m the best bloody chance you got.”

Xander looked mutinous, his face tomato-red. But he didn’t say anything.

“That’s right,” Spike snapped. “Think whatever you like. I’m leaving tonight for LA.”

“Where will you go?” Giles asked. “Understand that I am not condoning this in any way. I don’t trust you—I never have and I never will. But you are right. If you are telling the truth, then you are our best option.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “But—”

“Spike is connected to the Order. That is more than any of us can say. And should he be lying, we will not be any worse off than we are now.”

“Except he can get that chip out,” Xander spat. “Then we’ll have the Fanged Four to deal with.”

Giles hesitated. “Yes. But _Buffy_ will not be worse off. I don’t think Spike poses more of a threat to her than Angelus does. And given that we know Spike teamed up with Buffy before to defeat him—”

“That’s right,” Spike said, puffing out his chest. “I did. Nothing in it for me then.”

Xander sneered. “Except your girlfriend back.”

Well, yeah, that had been the deal. Bugger all.

Giles frowned and cleared his throat. “As I was saying, Buffy is now in the hands of two, soon-to-be three, very ruthless, legendary vampires. Even if Spike is lying, she will not be in more danger than she is currently. And as it is…” He sighed heavily—one of those full body sighs. “The fate of the world is still in jeopardy. Glory is not going to take a break because we are down a slayer. If anything, she is likely to escalate—”

“Glory? Glory? We’re bringing up Glory?” Xander demanded. “Who cares about Glory? We have bigger problems at the minute! If Chips Ahoy is going to Los Angeles, then—”

“He goes alone,” Giles said solemnly. “Like I said, Xander, we _must_ care about Glory, otherwise there might not be a world for Buffy to come home to.”

“We can’t trust him!”

Spike rolled his eyes again.

“I know that. But it appears that we have no choice.” Giles took a step toward him. “Where will you go?”

Finally a question he could answer without having to reveal something personal.

“Angel Investigations,” Spike replied. “If it hasn’t been torn to shreds by now. I’d wager that Cordelia and that little mixed chap have a contingency plan or what all in place. I’ll start there, see what they know, and work my way up.”

“Spike.” Giles’s gaze was level with him now. “I want you to listen to me very, very carefully. Should anything happen to Buffy, anything at all, I will hold you personally responsible. I don’t give a bleeding fuck if you are involved or not. Something happens to her, it’s going to happen to you too. Do you understand me?”

It was a rare day when the Watcher used such raw language.

Then again, today seemed to be the king of rare days.

“I get you, Rupert.” Spike nodded. It was nothing he hadn’t expected. Nothing he wouldn’t demand himself if he’d been in the Watcher’s place.

“You are to remain in constant contact with us.”

“I can do that.”

“I don’t like this,” Willow said, her eyes going from Giles to Spike. “Not that I don’t trust you… Well, I don’t trust you, but you get me. I don’t understand why we have to be sitting ducks. Can’t we be standing ducks? Or flapping ducks? Or rushing-to-help-Buffy ducks? I just don’t get it…especially where Glory is concerned. Without the Slayer, what exactly do we hope to accomplish? Throw rocks at her?”

At that, something behind Giles’s façade began to crack. “There are things,” he said slowly, “that have to be taken into consideration. Things that involve Glory that I cannot disclose. Here.” He added the last with a pointed look in Spike’s direction. “Let’s just leave it at that for now. We will discuss the details later.”

Spike couldn’t agree more. “Right,” he snapped. “Save your sodding dramatics. It’s of no interest to me.” He turned to Willow. “And don’t get your knickers in a twist. Whatever the old man has up his sleave’ll be common knowledge two seconds after I walk out the bloody door.”

Giles nodded, his gaze still fixed on Spike. “Before you leave, Spike, a word in the back, please.”

Right. Nothing could be that easy. Never mind he was wasting more time. Spike looked around the room, then made to follow the Watcher.

He expected Rupert to lay into him the moment they were alone. The man had been far too agreeable up until now. Once more, though, Spike was surprised. The second they were alone, Giles did little more than break out into a furious pace that explained where he’d been storing his excess energy. And for a few minutes, that was all there was. The Watcher wearing the floorboards to and fro, making eye contact every few seconds, looking like he would say something before falling into step again.

This would be funny if Spike weren’t in such a hurry.

“So, what is it?” he asked when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Wanna lay down with the ground rules? Do not touch the Slayer? Do not look at the Slayer? Do not interact with the Slayer? Do not—”

“Shut up.”

“Do not shut up? There’s a new one.”

“I mean it. This…” Giles pressed his hand against a wall, looking older in that moment than Spike had ever seen him. “What you are about to do… God, I can’t believe I’m trusting you to—”

“Trust me or not, mate, I’m doin’ it.”

“Why? If I knew why, perhaps I could… I just don’t see what possible motive you have to go to Buffy’s aid.”

How the hell was he supposed to answer that? The truth wouldn’t make Giles feel any better, and it likely would eat up more time they couldn’t afford to waste. There was too much that he still did not know, did not understand, and he rather doubted that ‘I’ve had the sudden desire to shag the Slayer senseless’ would score any points.

He had to hand it to Giles—the man was asking all the right questions.

“Honestly, mate,” he began, “I don’t know. I can’t explain anything right now. Trust me, things’d be a lot easier if I could say bugger all and let them have her.”

“Forgive me if that’s not at all reassuring.”

“Well, this isn’t the first time this sort’ve thing’s happened where the lot of you are concerned. That one time that Glenda the Second’s magic went all wonky, making you blind to everything with demon blood?” He waited for Giles to nod before continuing. “Yeah. Walked in, saw the Slayer struggling under some beastie she couldn’t see and leaped in to save the bloody day. Don’t ask me why—she certainly didn’t. Didn’t even get a thank you for that.” Another brief break. “I don’t like any of you, you know. But I just… I can’t let them have her. Angelus and Dru were bad enough. Throw Darla in the mix, a bird with a wicked grudge and a mean streak a mile long and all hell breaks loose. I don’t want the Slayer mixed in with them.”

“This is about possession, then? She’s the Slayer, therefore you get to kill her?”

If only it were that easy.

“If it makes you sleep better to tell yourself that…well, I don’t rightly care what makes you sleep better.” Spike shook his head and headed for the door again. “I’m all you’ve got and you know it. And you also know I don’t welch on deals. You said it yourself—I helped Buffy before. Before there was a chip. Before my hatred of the lot of you grew to colossal proportions. Helped her because I can’t bloody stand Angelus. Still can’t. And he’s not gonna have forgotten that.”

“You helped her because of Drusilla,” Giles said. “Angel had Drusilla and you couldn’t stand it. Now Darla’s in the picture, so I imagine Drusilla is fair game once more.”

Spike snorted. “Do you really think Darla being back will mean he stops shagging other girls? None of them know the meaning of the word _faithful_ , least of all your former soul boy. Angelus hardly ever does anything just because he wants to—he does what he can to make others hurt. He could give a fuck about Dru on most days, but he knew how it burned me to see her with him so he did it.”

“You were in the family before.”

“Right. Didn’t much care for it then, either. But I was the new kid. Couldn’t say much, could I? Then he got a soul shoved up his ass and I had Dru to myself for nearly a whole bloody century.” Spike snickered again and shook his head, old resentments bubbling to the surface. “Nearly a hundred years of just me and her. I never would’ve thought she’d go back to fawning over him like she did. Like what we had didn’t matter. But that’s what happened because Dru never was mine to begin with. Learned that bloody lesson, didn’t I? So no, Rupes, there is no me and Dru. I’m her favorite toy, sure, but still a sodding toy.”

It wasn’t until his voice broke off that he realized he’d actually said all of that aloud. Spike widened his eyes and looked up. The look on Giles’s face was unreadable—somewhere between apathy and pity, though at the moment he wasn’t sure which was worse.

So he heaved another breath, shook himself off, and refocused. His sad history with Drusilla was not relevant. “I’m all you’ve got,” he said again. “Regardless of whatever ugly business there was with me and Angelus, I have a helluva better chance of getting close to them than any of you do. And I’d know where to look. More than Wolfram and Hart and that sham of a detective agency Angel was chiefing. I know them all more than any of you bloody watchers ever can. I’m on your side in this. Bygones be bygones and all that rot. You get me?”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“When the Council arrives,” Giles said at last, “I will not mention what has happened. If they get involved, things could become even harrier than they already are. But if the news they present about Glory is dire, there is every chance that I will be taking a leave of America with Joyce and Dawn in tow.”

That didn’t make any sense. “What?”

“I can’t tell you any more than that, other than I hope to have the others with me. Willow and Tara have school, of course, and I would not want to endanger them. And as hesitant as I am to abandon the Hellmouth in a time of crisis, I see no alternative at the moment.” Giles paused. “If it comes to that, you will have to contact me in London.”

“You realize you’re making about as much sense as Dru on a good day.”

“I can’t tell you more.”

Spike frowned, then shrugged and reached for his cigarettes. “Right. So if you decide to make a great escape, how do I reach you?”

“I’ll leave my London contact information with Cordelia, providing she’s still...” Giles glanced down. The word _alive_ populated the air between them like a comic strip dialog box, but he didn’t breathe life into it. Instead, he said, “I hope it will not come to that, but I see no alternative. I nearly suggested that you take Dawn with you and leave her with her father, but it makes no sense to take her from one dangerous situation and leave her in another. With Angelus on the loose and Hank Summers showing no interest in being involved with his daughters’ lives, Los Angeles is the last place for Dawn right now.”

How Dawn figured into anything still wasn’t clear, but Spike figured it better to simply nod and move along. “Right,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“You better.”

Spike headed for the back exit without another word. No sense parading himself  through the front again. It’d just welcome more questions, and he didn’t have time for that.

 _Buffy_ didn’t have time for it.

“One more thing,” Giles said. “Please…tell her…”

Spike didn’t as much as blink. “I will.”

“How do you know—”

“Because I’ve seen every sodding made-for-TV drama this bleeding world has to offer. If my first guess is off, I’m sure to get it within the top three.” He paused at the door. “Take care of yourself, Rupert.”

There was no answer, and it was just as well.

The time for conversation had ended.


	9. Path of Thorns

The cold was what she felt first. Cold so biting it made her bones shake.

 _Dammit._ Dawn must have been playing with the thermostat again. Looked like they would have to have  _another_ utility bill talk. Buffy wasn’t opposed to cranking on the AC, but Mom’s medical bills couldn’t be paid with IOUs, and Dawn seemed to think that it wasn’t  _cold_ if it wasn’t snowing.

A few seconds passed before Buffy noticed the whine of muscle stretching from her calves to her hamstrings. Then at once, her body came to life in all its achy glory. Her shoulder was sore and, unless she was mistaken, the mostly-healed wound in her side—given to her by random 80s vamp a few weeks prior—had reopened.

What the hell had hit her last night?

Buffy frowned, her mind foggy. She tried to turn over—when in doubt, reposition—but found she couldn’t. And it was then she realized she wasn’t in a bed at all, rather propped against a smooth, cold surface.

That couldn’t be good.

More details now. Her arms were sore because they had been twisted behind her and tied at the wrist. Her feet were stretched out before her, tingling and likewise bound at the ankle.

Trussed up like a goose.

Yeah. Something was really, really wrong.

Buffy opened her eyes, and immediately wished she had not.

She was no novice to being knocked out and tied up, of course, but the rules seemed to change each time. Judging by the semicircle of seriously-serious men that surrounded her, she’d either crashed a frat party or robbed a bank. Her mind, swimming in blank spots, provided no help.

How much had she had to drink last night?

Buffy eyed the men warily as more of the room came into focus. They were staring at her in an expressionless  _Children of the Corn_ way, which was wiggy enough without considering that they all looked armed out the wazoo.  Blunt instruments, night sticks, tasers…was that a broadsword? And someone in the back had brought a machine gun to the party.

Safe to say none of these guys had ever looked up the definition of  _fair fight._

“Okay.” Buffy groaned, attempting to stretch before deciding that was a very bad idea. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

No one moved or flinched.

“Get it? Kansas?” Nothing. “Wizard of Oz?” Nothing. “Do my stylish pop culture references go completely over your heads, or are you all mute?”

“Ms. Summers.” A voice she didn’t recognize sounded from the back of the greeting party, and the men began to break rank as someone approached. A male someone with brown hair, a strong jawline, and dressed in what had to be a ten thousand dollar suit.

“Welcome,” he said, “to Wolfram and Hart.”

The man had a face she didn’t recognize any more than she had his voice, but it was a nice face. If he’d approached her at the Bronze, she would’ve said yes to a dance. Hell, she might have even given him a real phone number.

Yeah, she had a type. Evil.

“To…huh? Who are you? And what the  _hell_ am I—”

“My name is Lindsey McDonald. You are a guest in the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart, law offices for the… Well, I suppose you’ll know what I mean when I say ‘sometimes-unexplained.’” 

Buffy tried to stretch again and her body whined in protest. “You people sure have a funny definition of guest,” she snapped. “What the hell am I doing here? What’s going on? Where’s Dawn?”

“One question at a time, please,” Lindsey said, holding up a hand. “You are here because the late Holland Manners thought your expertise in certain areas would be very beneficial for the firm. I apologize for the barbaric manner in which you were obtained, but Wolfram and Hart does not have a history of taking no for an answer. As to what is going on…that will be revealed in time. And Dawn, your sister, I’m assuming, is safely in Sunnydale. We are not interested in her.”

It took a few seconds, but she managed to fight to her feet, which was not easy with her arms behind her back and her legs tied together. But Buffy was nothing if not flexible, and she would not have this conversation while sitting on the floor.

When she was upright, she met Lindsey’s gaze again. He looked moderately impressed.

_Just wait until he sees what I can do when my hands are free._

Cold sweat beaded at her brow. “Okay, I don’t know what’s going on here, but let me tell you up front that is not smart to piss me off. So let’s save ourselves the trouble of the bad guy spiel, because I am so over Bond moments. Tell you what—we’ll just call this one even since I’m in a hurry, and I’ll leave you with your head still attached to your neck. Sound good?”

She took a step, or half a step as her feet were still bound, and immediately got a face-full of nightstick for the effort. Buffy grunted as the left side of her face went red hot with pain, and stumbled back to the wall, her legs suddenly way too wobbly for comfort.

“That’s enough,” Lindsey snapped. “Everyone out.”

When she looked up, she caught him glaring at the guard. So he wasn’t down with bodily assault. Good to know. For now. “I take it,” Buffy coughed, stretching best to her ability, pain be damned, “that when you say  _everyone_ , you don’t mean me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a tone that made her almost believe him. Almost.

The guard-dogs filed out, and the rest of the room came into focus at last. She was in what looked to be a run-of-the-mill law office.

This is what she got for even vaguely wondering if her life could ever get any weirder.

The instant they were alone, Lindsey knelt beside her and helped her to her feet. “Sorry about that,” he said as he assisted her to a chair in front of a desk. A desk that was now in view thanks to the absence of the weapon-wielding buffoons. “The men were supposed to be there just for show. I told them that you weren’t to be harmed…” He dropped his gaze to the faint spots of red leaking through her shirt. “Any more than you have been already.”

“Sorry if that’s not at all reassuring.” Buffy winced, willing her head to stop throbbing. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me out of these…what are they? Cuffs?”

“Enchanted manacles. The company always keeps them in stock. Inescapable unless you have the key. Which I do.” Lindsey sighed and parked his ass on the edge of his desk. “And again, I’m sorry. Not to absolutely kill the cliché, none of this was my idea.”

This? There was a  _this_?

“None of what?”

“Holland Manners was the former Division Head of Special Projects,” Lindsey said, as if that mattered to her. “He was a visionary. For the past two years, the firm has been the object of focus of someone I believe you know quite well.” His voice became abruptly bitter. “My condolences in that regard. I’m sure you’d recognize him. Tall, dark hair, always brooding, occasionally bumpy in the—”

“Angel?” Oh God. “This is about Angel?”

These guys actually took the whole damsel thing to the next level. Kidnapping a guy’s girlfriend was so freaking lame. Especially when the girlfriend was an ex.

“Tangentially,” Lindsey said. “Angel has been a thorn in Wolfram and Hart’s side ever since he arrived in Los Angeles. While the dent he has made in our interests remains minimal at most, he still proved to be…well, thorny.” He stood abruptly and began pacing the office, moving behind her so that her eyes couldn’t follow him. “Getting in the way, messing with our projects…generally being an all around ass.”

”I’m sorry. Would you like me to play you something on the world’s smallest violin?”

Lindsey came into view, and though he didn’t so much as acknowledge she’d spoken, Buffy was certain she saw the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Last year at the end of our spring term, Holland concocted a brilliant idea to keep Angel off our backs so that the more important projects could be given the attention they deserve.” He returned to his desk, and she noticed for the first time that he was absent a right hand. The sinking feeling in her gut told her that Angel was responsible. “Believe me, I never thought it would go this far.”

“How far?”

“I want you to know I never wanted you to be involved.”

“Thanks,” she replied dryly. “That means a lot.”

He stared at her for a moment as though trying to determine if she was serious, then heaved another sigh. “I don’t have much time to brief you, Ms. Summers. Things have since happened that forced the control out of our hands and into…well, I suppose you can call them clients. When they learned about Holland’s vision, they were very eager push forward and bring you into it. My authority as far as these matters go has reached its end.”

Buffy felt her stomach drop. That was not good. Not good at all. Despite the circumstances, Buffy could tell already that she would much rather be in the company of this man than whoever he planned to hand her over to. He was human at least, and humans could be overpowered. He also seemed to have a conscience, or at least enough of one that appealing to it might get her somewhere.

“Please,” she said softly. “Please, I can’t be here. Whatever this is, you’re going to have to find someone else. There’s…my sister. My mom isn’t well. I can’t be away from home. My sister needs me. Can you  _please_ just tell me what I’m—”

“If I could, I would.”

And again, she believed him, and she wasn’t sure what to think about that.

“In the meantime, I am going to do everything in my power to see to it that you… Well, I’m going to do everything in my power to help you,” Lindsey said. “I never thought I’d be so wrong. That it would come to this. But I was and it has.”

“Come to  _what?_ Just tell me what the  _hell_ is going on, give me something pointy, and I’ll—”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s  _always_ that simple. Believe me, if it weren’t, I’d know it by now.” 

Lindsey looked slightly aghast. “With all due respect, Ms. Summers, you’re not entirely familiar with how we do business in Los Angeles. This isn’t what you are used to. And trust me, they aren’t going to go soft on you. You’ve formed some pretty powerful enemies doing whatever it is that you do, and—”

“Whatever it is that I do?” she repeated, her voice ratching up an octave.

“I didn’t mean to degrade your work, and I certainly don’t want to get you into any more trouble than you’re in already.” He ran his left hand through his hair and shook his head. “But this…this is nonnegotiable. Completely out of my hands. I’ve risked enough asking to have any time with you at all. Do you understand?”

“I understand that  _you_ don’t grasp the consequences of what will happen if you don’t let me go. Right. Now.”

“I can’t help you. I’ve already said more than I should have.”

“And still managed not to make one lick of sense. You really are a lawyer.”

He ignored her. “This is my neck on the line, I don’t even care for these people, but if the Senior Partners don’t demand my life for this, they’re going to demand something else.”

“What the  _hell_ are you talking about?”

Lindsey was pacing again, his once calm expression deteriorating into something desperate, damn near mad. “It’s not just your boyfriend that the firm objected to.”

“He’s not—”

“—your boyfriend. Yeah, yeah, I know. Trust me, aside from Lilah Morgan or the person down in records, I don’t believe anyone knows more about Angel than I do. And he has been a considerable pain in the ass.”

“As you’ve said. Stop wasting—”

“His associates have also proven a liability to the firm.” Lindsey turned away again. “And as you might have guessed, the firm has a way of dealing with obstacles, including the personnel.” He waved to indicate himself. “I’ve done things against the Senior Partners’ wishes, and those actions have put me at great personal risk. This leaves me subject to investigation.”

Buffy thought about telling him how much she cared about that, but opted to bite her tongue instead. If she wasn’t careful, he might conveniently forget to tell the next guard to stop with the beating.

“You were brought in when you shouldn’t have been,” he went on, “but at the same time, you can’t possibly have any idea what you’re asking me to do.”

 “Well, maybe if you actually told me something rather than keeping with the lame excuses, I’d at least have a clue.”

And that might have been the straw that broke the lawyer’s back. Lindsey’s calm demeanor snapped, his confused, conflicted face at once a mask of anger. “I  _can’t_  tell you anything. Haven’t you been listening at all? It’s out of my hands. Ms. Summers—”

“Stop with that. The name’s Buffy,  _Lindsey._ Use it.”

“Fine.  _Buffy._ ”

“Okay.”  _Breathe in, breathe out._  Buffy forced herself to relax. Struggling and name-calling wasn’t about to get her anywhere. Of course, it hadn’t exactly worked in the past either, but these were different circumstances. Lindsey’s pity-party aside, she believed him when he said he did not want to see her hurt. That made him valuable, and it was not wise to piss off people who stood between you and the door, especially when you had the disadvantage of being tied up. “We’re getting somewhere.”

“So it would seem.”

“Okay then.” Potential for rational discourse. This was progress. “Instead of trying to explain to me what you can’t explain to me, start at the beginning. Is there anything that you  _can_  tell me?”

“You are familiar with the Order of Aurelius.”

She couldn’t help it; she snorted. “Familiar? I  _dated_ one of them, as you’ve reminded me several times now. Plus I’ve had another trailing me the past two years.  _Familiar_ with the Order? Hell, I could write a book on it.” A pause. “Not that I would or anything.”

“Yeah, well, this involves them. Or most of them. As it happens, William the Bloody—”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Spike? What’s he got to do with it?”

“If you’d stop interrupting me…” Lindsey scowled. “ _Spike_  turned down the offer that was proposed when you were retrieved from Sunnydale. Evidently—”

“What offer?” And he’d turned it down? Spike Spike? Spike as in  _Spike_? An offer from a law firm that trussed up slayers like it was no big deal?

Buffy swallowed hard, her heart hammering, her mind dragging her back to their conversation in Restfield. To the panicked way he’d burst into the Bronze—yes, she  _did_ remember that. He’d been trying to warn her of something then.

Had it been about this?

“I only know the highlights,” Lindsey said. “Spike was offered the opportunity to rejoin the Order and have that government chip removed, and he refused.”

That made absolutely no sense.

“Spike had the chance to have his chip removed and he  _turned it down?”_

“It came at a price.”

“What price? Two months ago, he was all about getting that thing out of his head.” And now that she thought about it, Spike’s behavior since the doc-napping had been a little…strange. Stranger than usual. “Why the hell did he say no?”

Something even weirder happened then. Lindsey smiled. The sort of smile Dawn aimed her way when Joyce had snapped at her for picking on her little sister.

”It’s not my place to say,” he said, that damn grin still there. “But one of the stipulations of the offer would have been rejoining the Order here. That was Holland’s objective, you see. When Angel refused to play by our rules, we… Well, changed the rules.”

Buffy’s stomach pitted as though she had been pitched downhill, realization setting in. “You want Angelus.”

“We—”

“That’s why I’m here.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe this.  _This_ is the mission? You can’t begin to know what kind of pressure I’m under back home, and you snatched me up to…what? Be your whore? I don’t think so.”

“That isn’t—”

“Then tell me what is! Angel and I are not involved anymore and will never be again. If I’m not here to get him to go all homicidal again, then what the hell am I supposed to—”

A vampire entered the room.

Buffy started, her body buzzing with immediate awareness. She twisted in her seat, straining to see who was at the door. The only thing she could say for certain was it was not the ex-boyfriend; her special Angel-senses, while duller now, were still reasonably functional.

And, she realized belatedly, it wasn’t Spike, either. Turned out she had special radar where he was concerned too.

Before her mind could open door number three, though, a chillingly familiar voice broke through the silence.

“My, my,” it drawled. “She certainly thinks highly of herself, doesn’t she Lindsey?”

There was a flash of blonde hair, then the vampire was in view. A vampire with a face nearly five years dead.

This was  _not_ possible.

Buffy blinked once, twice. The picture in front of her did not change.

Darla’s grin widened, her eyes twinkling. “Surprise,” she said.

 _Shit._ Buffy snapped her attention back to Lindsey, but when their eyes met, her blood chilled.

Bad guys were not supposed to look that concerned for hostages.

“I have ten minutes left, Darla,” he said. “That was our agreement.”

“I’m changing the agreement.”

“You don’t—”

“I’m changing the agreement, darling. Living with it.” Darla kept her gaze fixed on Buffy, then leaned forward with a wicked smirk. “It’s time for our guest to be escorted to her quarters and…broken in.”

Buffy shook her head, her mind officially giving up. Every nerve in her body was numb with raw astonishment. She opened her mouth and said the only thing she could think of, “I saw Angel kill you.”

Darla smirked. “I remember. I was there. Do you think the laws of nature bend only for your precious Angel? Not very quick, is she?” The last was directed at Lindsey, even though the vampire didn’t so much as twitch in his direction. “You’re a fool, Buffy. You didn’t know us when we last met. We’re going to fix that now.” Darla drew nearer, running her fingers through Buffy’s hair. “Angel always had a thing for the weak-minded, even more so after the gypsy whores stuffed that soul in him. His victims, as I remember, followed the same pattern. So much easier to find. To fuck.” Her eyes glinted as she leaned forward. “To kill.”

Buffy jerked, fighting for composure. “Keep away from me.”

“Sorry, dear. We’re fresh out of that. But I do believe Lindsey has had enough time trying to soften things up for you.” Darla turned to the lawyer. “And there will be no arguing. Untie her. We have a little trip to make.”

That was enough to silence her. The prospect of being freed nearly made her eyes bulge out of her head. Darla didn’t seem to realize she’d said anything significant, and perhaps she didn’t think she had. Buffy was content to let her think that.

Even if the vampire only freed her legs, Buffy knew she could get out of here. Then she could alert Angel and be home before her mom started to wig.

The nightmare would be over by bedtime.

Buffy did her best to school her features not to give anything away as Lindsey neared to undo her bonds. Ankles first, arms second. God, they really were a cocky crew, weren’t they? He whispered a warning into her ear not to try anything, but he couldn’t honestly expect her to comply.

The instant the manacles fell away, Buffy bounded to her feet and sent Lindsey flying over the mahogany desk with a hard punch. She whirled, ready, and kicked an advancing Darla into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. Her more primal senses told her to search out a wooden weapon, but she didn’t have that kind of time. So instead, Buffy abandoned  _fight_ for  _flight_  and bolted for the door.

The hallway was brighter than she expected. Lindsey had had the blinds drawn in his office—now she knew why—and Buffy’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to regular-person brightness. She saw enough to confirm, once and for all, that she was indeed in a law office. An ordinary-looking upper-scale firm, which, in spite of everything, surprised her.

How could a place like this even exist? No one seemed bothered by the deranged woman tearing through the hallways. The guards that had greeted her were nowhere to be seen, and the people she sped by looked thoroughly nonplussed.

Something was seriously wrong here.

In later days, she would have time to consider this and more. 

A lot of time.

It happened so quickly it might as well have been a dream. Someone grabbed her wrist, and Buffy immediately pivoted to strike her assailant. Before she could so much as take a breath, her arms were bound behind her and she was pulled tightly to a broad, strong chest.

A very familiar chest.

“I knew that it was only a matter of time before you came running back into my arms. Welcome home, sweetheart.”

 _No._  No. It couldn’t be.

A strangled sob commanded tore at her throat and she jerked once more, but he was too strong. Her muscles whined in protest, still drowsy from whatever she’d been juiced with and wilting under fresh exhaustion.

And though she knew the answer, she couldn’t help herself. It was the last strand of hope she had and she refused to give it up. “A-Angel?”

That laugh. That awful laugh had chased her nightmares for years. Buffy’s eyes stung and she bit her tongue to keep from sobbing.

This couldn’t be real. It  _couldn’t_ be.

But it was.

Then Darla was there behind him, grinning, her hand on his shoulder. “Do yourself a favor, Buff,” she said. “When you start to feel sleepy, go with it. It’ll be easier that way.”

“But not nearly as much fun,” Angelus chided.

Buffy opened her mouth to retort, but something heavy fell against her, and then she was falling. Again down the endless tunnel where the clock chimed no more.

All went black.


	10. Till We Run Out of Road

Angel Investigations was not where Spike had left it because nothing in this sodding world could be easy. He stared at the space that had once been home to Angel’s stupid detective agency as though willing it to rematerialize. The entire drive from Sunnyhell, he’d banked on being able to show up and get started. Dig right into the Slayer saving business.

But with the sun due up soon and no roof overhead, Spike’s priorities were forced to change into a hunt for shelter. By looks alone, he figured Angel’s base of operations had been blown to smithereens. Seemed a bad habit where Angel was concerned. Maybe he had an arson fetish.

Inconveniences aside, LA was not without its resources for the modern vamp. Spike moved to the city’s underground to navigate throughout the day. His connections here weren’t extensive, but he knew enough folks to get around decently.

Still, it took way too much bloody time to find a demon with enough stones to namedrop the Hyperion Hotel.

Which sounded about right. The last time he’d been in LA, the Hyperion’s lobby had been a rat haven. And the rumors Spike had heard about malevolent spooks had convinced him to take Dru there in the pre-Prague days. They’d christened as many rooms as they could before the ghostie had tossed them out.

Good times, those.

Spike snickered and shook his head, wedging a cigarette between his lips. If someone had told him then his feelings for Dru would turn on their bloody head in the span of a few years, he would’ve…well, yanked out their spleen and made merry with their entrails.

But that had been before.

Before Angelus returned the first time. Before he saw just how little Dru cared for him. Before she’d snogged a sodding Chaos Demon because he, Spike, had had a certain little birdie stuck in his head.

At the time, Spike had thought she’d been jealous that any woman could infiltrate the palace of his mind. After all, while she’d shagged half of bloody Europe, he’d been a devoted one woman vamp. Lusting after Buffy had certainly not been in the cards.

Except Spike now reckoned that had little to do with it. Dru got jealous, but she also got even. If she thought he fancied someone else, she’d punish him for it, sure, but in a fun way. Buffy was a different story.

Buffy was the Slayer, and Dru couldn’t forgive that, so she’d chucked him.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

Spike inhaled appreciatively on his fag and turned his attention back to the Hyperion. Place didn’t look nearly as run down as it had a few years back. Seemed Angel had well for himself. It was most definitely an improvement from the two-bit offices from before. 

Hopefully Angel Investigations also had turndown service.

Granted, Spike had some concerns. A hotel wasn’t exactly vamp-proof, and being that Angelus made a point of attacking anyone who reminded him of his soulful side, this could prove problematic.

Or a waste of time. Maybe the crew had already snuffed it. Maybe was too late.

As he neared, though, he dismissed this thought. He couldn’t smell so much as a hint of human blood anywhere nearby. The place was clean—clean as a very large hotel could be.

And Angelus’s scent was all over the bloody place. Perhaps he was working up to a mass slaughter as he had last time. Killed a bunch of fish and offed a teacher before he’d grown bored with regular slaughter and decided to end the world. Go big or go bloody home.

There were other scents too. Cordelia was definitely on the premises, even if she wasn’t in sight, and at least one other bloke, maybe two. Spike peeked through the windows best he could, but couldn’t see anything beyond some cushy furniture.

Better to go in and get the awkward part over with.

He sighed heavily, tossed his cig to the ground, then stormed over to the front and threw the door open.

And was promptly chucked a good ten feet back by a force he couldn’t see.

“Bloody fuck!” he roared, more out of surprise than pain. When he raised his head to gauge the invisible barrier, he was honestly surprised to see nothing but an open doorway. This wasn’t right. The mojo that kept vamps from popping into homes willy nilly wasn’t supposed to apply to public accommodations, and it sure as fuck weren’t supposed to shove back that hard.

It took Spike a few seconds to suss out that Angel might have worked some additional magic of his own to keep out all the nasty vamps who didn’t take kindly to soulful types. Hell, maybe Spike himself was responsible for the new security.

That thought made him grin.

But he dismissed this the next second—Angel the great git would have seen anything like that as a form of weakness, and soul or not, he couldn’t stand weakness. Story went he’d nearly greeted a sunrise a few years back because he’d been too weak to stay away from the Slayer.

If the sodding Powers hadn’t mucked that up, Buffy would still be tucked away back in Sunnyhell.

Spike shook himself off and neared the entrance again, cautiously this time. All right, so he’d need an invite. That should be a breeze considering he and Cordy were best of mates.

_Balls._

Spike edged as close as he dared to the now open doorway and peered inside. The lobby was still vacant. The upper hallways, best to his line of visibility, were empty as well.

Back to the sodding basics.

“Hello!” he shouted, the acoustics making him sound like he was on stage somewhere. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

A few seconds ticked by. No response.

“Oh sod it, I know damn well that everyone’s home. Now come out and greet your guest right and proper.”

Still nothing.

It was time to resort to dirty warfare.

“Cordelia! I have one of your frilly little shirts and I’m gonna rip it apart yarn by yarn ‘till you come down and bloody well  _let me in!”_

At that, someone appeared at the veranda. Someone with much shorter hair than he remembered, but eyes that he would know anywhere. A grin rose to his lips and he offered a wave. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Cordelia Chase replied, rolling her eyes. “I’m just coming down to tell you that one, you are _so_ not invited in and two, you couldn’t possibly have any of my clothing because of the aforementioned number one. Besides, you don’t even know where I live.”

He cocked an eyebrow and looked around. “Hate to tell you, love, but this big hotel doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

“Yuck! You think I  _live_ at work? Puhlease. Hasn’t Angel told you anything? Or are you just trying to wheedle an invitation over at my digs, ‘cause I gotta tell you, that won’t do you any good, either.” Even at a distance, he saw she her proud smirk. “Dennis would _so_ kick your ass.”

“Whatever. Listen, Cordy, be a dear and—”

“It’s not gonna happen, Bleach Boy. Deal with it.”

“Oh for cryin’… I’m here to help you!”

Someone else came into view. Someone who wasn’t the little Irish bugger. “I find that rather unlikely,” a said twenty-year-younger-sounding-Giles as a bloke sidled next to Cordy on the veranda. “As we explained to Angelus earlier, we are well aware of what has happened and we are—”

“So Angelus  _did_ drop by here earlier?” It wasn’t so much a question as an observation. Spike raised a hand to the invisible barrier and lightly skimmed the surface—just enough so that it tickled. “Nice mojo. Your handiwork, Cor?”

“I had some help.”

“From the halfling I take it.” He rolled onto his toes to see further up the corridor, but it was no use. “Guess he’s coming down next, eh?”

At that, Cordelia’s face fell in a way that left very little to the imagination.

Fuck. The little git had kicked it. Best to change the subject.

“But I like it. Very posh.” Spike dropped his hands. “But highly unneeded. I’m on your side, here.”

“You’re a member of the Order of Aurelius,” not-Giles observed.

Spike bugged out his eyes and started patting his chest. “Doesn’t that beat all. You learn somethin’ new every day. Yeah, Dru already gave me the run through. I should say, Darla gave me the run through, then Dru decided to put on an encore. Guess Angelus didn’t share that I turned down that offer.”

Not-Giles arched an eyebrow. “Out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose?”

“No, actually, for a girl. This just happens to be a side-effect.” He tapped his cranium. “And even if I did have evil intentions, I have a cute little government chip that gives me a bloody shock if I so much as lift a finger against one of you humanly types. You happy? Now lemme in!”

Cordelia snickered. “Yes, because we make a habit of trusting evil vampires.” 

“Wanna come down here so I can give you a demo?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Listen, you daft bint, your fearless leader and his tarty little sire have Buf—the Slayer and they’re doing god-knows-what to her. You want a slayer death on your conscience? That’s the only reason I’m here.” 

“Oh, to  _save_ Buffy?” Cordelia snorted. “Yeah, I’m buying that.”

A new voice permeated into the corridor, and another new face appeared on the veranda. A Black fella who looked tougher than Cordelia and the British bloke combined. He caught sight of Spike and started with a small laugh. “No wonder I couldn’t concentrate. We’re under attack by Billy Idol.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “For the last bloody time, that git stole  _my_ look and …forget it. Listen, Cordy, I know we’ve had our differences in the past. There was that entire ‘me trying to kill you’ thing and you being cross about it. Bygones, as far as I’m concerned.  I’ve seen the error of my ways and all that rot. If you don’t trust me—which honestly, I wouldn’t either—phone up Rupert. He’ll set you straight.”

At that, Cordelia’s gaze softened.

The man next to her tapped the British gent’s shoulder. “Who  _is_ this guy?”

“William the Bloody,” not-Giles replied. “Better known as Spike. From the Order of Angelus. He was sired by Drusilla.”

“You mean there’s  _more_ to this family tree? Man, just when I thought I’d caught up.”

Spike was impressed. While he suspected that the Order was being studied, the substitute Rupert seemed to have his facts fairly straight.

He jutted his chin at him showily and grinned. “Hey mate, you seem familiar.” It was a lie, but a good icebreaker, nonetheless. “Have I threatened you before?”

“I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” he introduced. “Former Watcher. In fact, I was Buffy—”

“Oh right,” Spike said, nodding. “You’re the wanker who turned that other Chosen bint all rogue. Right. Buffy’s told me about you.” He chuckled and presented him with a thumbs-up. “Nice going.”

“Hey, we don’t talk about that around here,” Cordelia snapped, waving at him in a universal _shut up_ motion _._

Spike had to smother a chuckle. The bird did have stones.

“Anyway,” she continued, “what was that you were saying about calling Giles?”

“I owe the bloke a call anyway. Told him I’d keep in contact.” Spike rolled on his heels impatiently. “So are you gonna lemme in or not? Get something wooden and pointy if it’ll make you feel better. But I’m here to help, okay? Even if I wasn’t, this chip means I got no bloody bite where the lot of you are concerned.”

Cordelia gnawed at her lip, then turned to Wesley. “I suppose we could have him sing for the Host.”

“Or you could have a vision,” the other bloke said. There was a dry note in his voice, like he didn’t care one way or another. Spike decided this guy might be all right, that Billy Idol comment notwithstanding. “Come on. What do we have to lose?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying since I got here!”

There was a second’s hesitation. Cordelia evidently reached a decision and leaned toward Wesley, though she kept her eyes trained on the doorway as though the barrier was going to magically come down of its own accord. “Go get the crossbow.”

Ten minutes later, Spike was hovering over the front desk, nodding as he reassured Rupert once more of his good intentions before turning the receiver to Wesley. There was a series of contended ‘ohhs’ and ‘I see’s’ before he nodded to Cordelia and the other man—who had kept the crossbow trained on him throughout the entire introduction process—that Spike’s story checked.

“Okay,” Cordelia said once everything was in the clear. “You’ve officially snagged my attention. Why are you here to help? Last time I saw you, you all but tortured Angel to death.”

“Good times.” Spike grinned even if he knew it was dangerous. He was, after all, surrounded by a lot of ponces who were loyal to his wanker of a grandsire, but that particular memory was a happy one, and he would never pretend otherwise. “And if we wanna be fair, it was more that git Marcus who did the torturing…and got the better end of the deal, if you don’ count being a pile of dust at the end of the day. Let’s just say I’m a changed man. Seen the light and all that.”

Wesley cocked his head. “Because of the chip? Vampires do not change, Spike. Without the guidance of—”

“Listen, do you want help or not?”

“I believe what Wes is trying to say is…” Cordelia drawled once more. “Shouldn’t you be crawling over a football field of hot ash for your wackaloon of a girlfriend?”

“Dru’s already spoken her piece to me, like I said. I turned her down.” He held up a hand. “Don’t ask me why. It’s nothing I can explain. Believe me, I’ve tried. The lot of you are nothing compared to a bunch of righteous Scoobies. I’m here for the Slayer and only the Slayer. If she wants to go after your precious boss after I have her back, fine. Bloody fun times all around.” Spike shrugged and dug his hands into his duster pockets. “I don’t rightly care much, either way.”

“You’re sure going out of your way for some chick you claim to not care too much about,” said the man he didn’t know.

“I didn’t—” Spike began shortly. “By the way, who are you?”

“Call me Gunn.”

Cordelia shook her head. “Sorry. Didn’t realize we were keeping you in the dark. Charles Gunn, this is Spike. Spike, Charles Gunn. Spike’s the vampire that’s tried to kill us more times than we can count.”

“In all fairness, love, I never really had a yen for _your_ head on a stick. It was just the Slayer I wanted to do in.”

“And now you’re here to rescue her.” Wesley was now looking at him the way a scientist might look at a lab rat. “My, my. How intriguing. I don’t suppose this marks as a study that a creature whose prime directive is to be evil can alter his nature once the laws of science intervene and force him to—”

Cordelia and Gunn exchanged a look, then chorused together, “No.”

Wesley frowned. “I was merely saying—”

“No.”

“Believe me,” Spike said, grinning in spite of himself. “Rupert already tried that road. It’s not worth repeating.” He turned, remembering something, casting an interested eye at the entrance. “I wasn’t lying before. I do fancy the new system. Very handy. Though I’ve been under the impression that invitation blocks don’t work in public places, and the last time I saw you, you weren’t exactly a witch. Well, in the formal sense of the world.”

She delivered a look that could freeze hell, thaw it, and freeze it again. “We could always disinvite you.”

“But I’m cavalry, and you’re the goody-good guys. You wouldn’t leave a poor, defenseless slayer with only yours truly as the bleeding brigade.”

“You could chop off all Buffy’s limbs and I still don’t think you’d be able to call her helpless.”

“Agreed,” Wesley stated with a nod. “Though she would be in the running for the Black Knight.”

There was a second’s pause as Spike and Wesley made contact, then promptly burst out laughing.

Cordelia glanced helplessly to Gunn, who shrugged. “Monty Python,” he explained. “It’s funny the first time around.”

“Oh no, mate,” Spike objected, grinning madly. It felt good to have something to grin at. Though not much time had passed, two days’ worth of worrying had his stomach tied in knots that seemed unworkable. Humor was undoubtedly the best medicine. “It’s funny every time around. It’s especially funny if you mention that part about the rabbit around Anya. Sends her running in circles.”

“Anya?”

“Harris’s bird.”

“Anya as in the girl he went to prom with? They’re still together?”

Gunn was staring at Cordelia. “You  _remember_ who went to your prom with who?”

She shrugged. “I went with Wesley…well, sorta.”

He blinked at turned to Wesley. “You cradle robbing smoothie. I never woulda guessed that.”

Color crept into Wesley’s cheeks. He cleared his throat loudly and focused again on Spike, clearly desperate for a change of subject. “The invitation spell was enhanced by an independent contractor,” he explained. “After Angel went bad, we were called by an…informant at Wolfram and Hart. He was generous enough to warn us about what had transpired, as well as Angel’s plans for us.” 

Spike’s brows shot up. “Oh, is that right? Just a good friend who happens to work for the biggest evil this side of the Western hemisphere?”

“Someone who’s not as evil as he’d like to think he is.” Cordelia smirked. “But still a big pain in the ass. Does that sound better, or just really familiar?”

“Oi! Take that back!”

She batted her eyes innocently. “What?”

“I’m still bad!”

“Please. That’s so twenty minutes ago.”

“You’re this close to—”

“Spike, if you were halfway as bad as you’d like to be, I never would’ve let you in.” She shook her head, snickering. “Hello! We’ve only been talking for the better part of ten minutes, and I can so tell that you’re over the entire evil thing. The being-here-to-rescue-Buffy ring any bells?”

Gunn chuckled his agreement. “Gotta say, bro, she’s got you there. Riskin’ your hide for the one chick that shouldn’t mean shit to you? Yeah, you sound  _real_ bad to me.”

“Movie of the week complex,” Cordelia offered.

“I was thinkin’ a deranged Hallmark card.”

“Forget that. It’s my business, innit?” A pause. Spike reckoned that it was time to get back on subject, now that his pride was on the cutting board. “What’s to be done about Captain Forehead?”

“I thought you didn’t care,” Cordelia replied with an amused smile.

“Bollocks. I _don’t_ care. But if I should run into him on the street or what all, it might be good to know how far I can pummel him till it reaches ‘Spike-be-staked’ territory.”

At that, the group exchanged a series of pointed looks. 

“We don’t want Angel dead,” Wesley explained after a moment. “But we understand that getting him back might not be as simple as we’d like. There are forces out there working against us, and not having a champion…well…that’s going to make things all the more difficult.”

Spike snickered and rolled his eyes.  _“Champion.”_

Whatever had lingered from Cordelia’s teasing evaporated. Her eyes flashed, making her look almost scary. “Hey,” she snapped. “I don’t care what issues you have with Angel, but around here, we—”

“Let it go, Cor,” Gunn advised. “You were spokesperson for the ‘We think Angel has lost it’ party for weeks before he went all evil on us.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to take it from Captain Peroxide.”

“Great.” Spike sighed. “Seems no matter where I go, I’m surrounded by hypocritical white-hats.”

“Hey, watch it buddy. You came to us. Remember?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. There would be plenty of time to sit around and have at it with each other later. Right now, only the Slayer mattered. Which was a pity, because he felt there was a shot that these were people he felt he could like if given the opportunity. Already he felt a lot more acceptance with them than he’d ever had in Sunnyhell.

“Not that this isn’t terribly interesting…well, it’s not at that, but I came here with one purpose.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cordelia waved dismissively. “We got it. The Slayer and all that. Jeez, Spike. If you had been this dedicated to getting her killed, she wouldn’t be around for you to rescue.”

“And I’m sure some part of that made sense,” Gunn observed with a frown.

Wesley stepped forward. “Our best option right now is Caritas,” he suggested. “The Host can read you. Well, all of us, really, and point us in the right direction.”

“Cara-what?”

“Caritas. It’s a demon karaoke bar.” Wesley nodded to his colleagues, who instantly hurried off. This lot had nonverbal communication down to a science. “The Host there can read you when you sing. It’s most useful, really. I’m sure he can prove to be of some service.”

Spike gave him a hard look. “I have to sing?”

“If you want to help Buffy, it would be beneficial.”

A long pause.

“I have to sing?”

Cordelia reappeared out of thin air, fitting into her jacket and tossing Wesley his. “Angel did.”

Spike snickered and looked at her. “Oh god. He _sang_? And your ears didn’t bleed till you died?”

She smirked. “I won’t deny that it was a legitimate concern of mine.”

“I’d forgotten how tone deaf the wanker was till three years ago. I caught him on occasion with a song or what all stuck in his head. Think it about killed all the flowers in his garden.” Spike shook his head. “Lemme guess…Barry Manilow?”

The lot of them were grinning now. “The one and only,” Gunn agreed. “It was…oh, I don’t think there are words.”

Cordelia shrugged. “Awful? Horrendous? Kill-me-now?” 

“Yeah, those words’ll do.”

She grinned and shifted her attention back to Spike. “So, Spikey, you’re going to dazzle us with a number. For the sake of humankind, of course.”

“Or in his case, pussy-whipped kind,” Gunn corrected.

Spike glared at him.

“Any hints?”

He kept his gaze on Gunn a moment longer, then finally looked back to Cordelia.  “Just wait, love,” he promised softly. “All good things.”

She favored him with a wry glance and a smile to match it. “We’ll see.”

Spike grinned in turn and pivoted to follow his new associates out the door.

This was an exceptionally good start.


	11. Absence of Fear

“Does she always do this?”

Spike ignored the glare Wesley aimed over his shoulder, focusing instead on the thrashing Cordelia. He knew that thrashing—knew it well, in fact. Dru used to pitch and scream something awful when the visions hit her. At least she had in the old days. Over the years, she’d come to anticipate them like a mortal woman might her menses.

So, Cordelia was a seer. That explained…

Well, nothing.

Gunn had his arms wrapped around her, presumably to keep her from hurting herself—or sending the car hurdling toward a lamppost. Almost unwittingly, Spike found himself slipping into the old habit of counting. Dru usually started to calm around the ten-count. Cordelia made it to seventeen before her convulsions subsided, leaving her a panting, shaking mess against her friend’s chest.

Then, without warning, she twisted in her seat and slapped Spike upside the head. Hard.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Some consolation. ‘Does she always do this?’ Please!”

“Cordelia,” Wesley said from the driver’s seat, “a little description of what you saw might be good.”

Cordelia glowered at Spike for another long beat before turning around again, caressing her temples. “Kids. Two of them. They’re being attacked in the alley behind…oh, it’s that place on the east-side.”

“Not really helpful,” Gunn informed her. His observation also merited a head slap, though notably not as hard.

“Hey, buddy. I work for these things. Not the other way around.”

Spike leaned forward. “So what happens now?”

“Now we go save the kids that Cordelia saw in her vision,” Wesley replied.

“Right after you drop me off at this Tarabas, right?”

“That’s Caritas, and no. We’re going now. We can’t afford to stop.” 

He slumped back, exasperated. “But you heard Charlie! The one alley on the east-side? We could be out here for hours.”

“I’m sure the lots of screaming will help point us in the right direction.”

“In this bloody town? Where the hell do you think you are?”

“Serves you right for calling me Charlie,” Gunn snapped. 

“It’s the one by Mom’s Barb-B-Que House,” Cordelia said, dropping her hands to her lap. “Not _that_ one but the one close to it? You know? The one that has bad décor but doesn’t make up for it with decent food?” She slapped Gunn again, this time on the shoulder. “You go there all the time!”

“Ow, what? It’s cheap.”

Spike shook his head. “And we’re not stopping at this karaoke bar first, why?”

“Because it’s not on our way,” Wesley retorted. “And if the Powers seem to think that our attention should be on the kids that Cordelia saw in her vision, then we’re going to trust them.”

“Bugger the Powers! I have to—”

“Save the Slayer,” Gunn supplied.

“We heard you the first time,” Cordelia agreed. “You have the broken-record epidemic. And there will be no premature leaving of the vehicle. The last time that happened, Angel went the way of the dark side.”

Gunn groaned again. “Dammit, Cordy, did you really have to do that?”

“Do what?”

“The Dark Side? Won’t be able to watch _Star Wars_ again without thinking about all this shit with Angel.”

“So _I_ ruined _Star Wars_ for you, not that stupid _Phantom_ -whatever movie that you were bitching about _all_ last year?”

“We agreed never to bring that up again.”

“I thought it had its virtues,” Wesley offered.

Gunn released an exasperated sigh. “That’s because you’re not a true fan. True fans thought it sucked.”

“Would the lot of you shut the  _bloody hell up?”_ Spike snarled. “If we’re making with the rescue bit, let’s go ahead and get it over with. Bad enough that I have a reputation for killing my kind on the Hellmouth. It’s becoming a sodding conflict of interest.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“Someone’s testy,” Cordelia drawled.

His eyes narrowed at her. “Well, yeah! How the hell do you hope to defeat whatever’s eating at the youngsters? Wes’ll throw a book at them, I suppose, and Charlie here’ll start talkin’ Lucas dialog. Maybe you can spray a little perfume in their direction.”

“I will not talk Lucas dialog because, _for the record_ , that movie doesn’t exist,” Gunn said. “And knock off calling me Charlie before I’m forced to shove something very wooden and pointy through your chest.”

“Okay. Flash ‘em some attitude. That’ll work.”

The car jerked and came to a fierce, sudden halt beside a curb. “Spike,” Wesley said as he and the others began piling out, “if getting to Caritas matters to you at all, you’ll firstly shut up, and secondly help us deal with whatever we’re about to encounter. You want to help Buffy? Buffy would want you to help _us_ , and you know it _._ ”

Dirty fucking pool.

“Right, right. You old git.” Heaving a much put-upon sigh, Spike jumped to the concrete after them. “What if the runts are being attacked by a human? What then? I throw pebbles at ‘em and hope it doesn’t hurt?”

In unison, his new friends answered him with, “Shut up!”

Spike grinned. These people, once you got passed the unfortunate Angel-association, were all right. 

Then again, he reckoned that their working with a vampire—soulful or otherwise—had worked in his personal favor. It hadn’t taken much convincing that he was here for Buffy. After they believed it, they didn’t belabor the point—just accepted that it was true and that was all there was to it. Furthermore, they functioned with a group dynamic that rivaled the one he had left behind. Better, in some ways, without the deadweight of Harris.

“Spike!” Cordelia called before following the others into the alley. “You coming?”

“Right, right,” he muttered. “Rely on the vampire to save the day. You people are depraved.”

But seeing as he was in a hurry, and the best chance at getting this party back on track before sunup, he broke into a jog and chased the sounds of struggle.

The scene that greeted him was not pleasant. Neither was the smell.

A Kraelek demon. Of course it had to be a Kraelek demon. Glowing puss and all. The odious stench that he would know anywhere. It was a hulking thing, thick skinned and ugly. Also not one to look head-on, lest you weren’t partial to functioning eyeballs. The worst was the puss itself. The Kraelek would pour it down its victim’s throat and liquefy their insides.

Not a pleasant way to go.

The most disturbing thing, though, was the fact that there was one in LA at all. The Kraelek weren’t native to California, or America, for that matter. If it was here, it was because there was a fat payout waiting for it. Their currency of choice was power, though they’d take cash or charge if need be. But their loyalty was always for sale, which made them a gamble in terms of hiring, and was furthermore why they’d been dead last on the short-list for lackeys back when Spike had done that sort of thing.

Though Kraelek didn’t favor vampires as meals, they were considered fair game if the price was right.

Of course, vampires wouldn’t die from such an attack—not at first. But they couldn’t well feed without a stomach and eventually starved to death.

The Kraelek in question was attempting to back two girls against the alley wall. Either Cordy’s vision was off or she’d read it wrong, because the girls weren’t kids—well, one of them was, but the other was at least in her twenties and seemed anything but helpless. Her look of fierce determination rivaled any slayer he had faced, and with her dirty-blonde hair and build, somewhat reminded him of Buffy. She hadn’t so much as glanced in his or his companions’ direction, which was likely smart, seeing as the creature hadn’t acknowledged them, either. She was currently warding it off with what appeared to be an elongated stake—one she looked like she knew how to use. 

The other girl, though, couldn’t be more than ten. But like her companion, she didn’t look afraid.

Which was either very fortunate or very creepy.

“What the…” Gunn said, frowning. “Puss? No one mentioned puss.”

“Get over it,” Cordelia snapped. “Someone get the girl. Wes, Spike, distract the demon. We have to get its attention.”

Spike glared at her. “And how do you suggest we go about that?”

Wesley shot an arrow into the Kraelek’s left leg with a small, handheld crossbow he’d pulled out of nowhere. The creature howled and turned to them violently, flashing its fangs.

“There,” he said. “Easy enough for you?”

“Bloody fantastic. You have anything in a larger size? ‘Cause that’s not gonna do us rot, you egotistical sod.” Spike rolled his eyes. Then an idea occurred to him—a very bad, probably suicidal idea, but the best one he had at the moment. He leaped forward before he could talk himself out of it, the bones in his face shifting as his fangs descended.

Might as well go full hero. Not like he had any pride left.

“Don’t look at it!” he shouted, swinging furiously as the Kraelek started to turn back to its original prey. “Unless you fancy carrying around a tapping cane for the rest of your days!” 

Another flash of incisors. He dropped to the ground on instinct and rolled over to the blonde woman and her child.

“Time for formal introductions’ll come later,” Spike said, fighting to his feet again. “Run off to the wanker in the glasses.”

He received a blank stare for his troubles.

“Who  _are_ you?” the wannabe slayer demanded.

But before Spike could think to answer, the Kraelek swung back its massive arm and sent her flying toward Wesley, which…well, worked. The other girl, the child, hadn’t flinched, though for the first time, he saw her look properly afraid.

“Serves her right,” Spike muttered. “Told her this wasn’t the proper time for bloody introductions.”

Cordelia rushed to help the slayer wannabe while Gunn and Wes attacked the demon from the back. They moved with respective synchronicity, obviously well attuned to each other’s moves. The former Watcher had used up the last of his arrows and was attempting to distract the Kraelek while Gunn collected the girl’s fallen. 

“That’s right, you bastard,” Wesley snapped. “Pick on someone your own size.”

Then Gunn lurched toward the monster and began releasing what looked to be a year’s worth of repressed rage. While impressive to watch, it wasn’t all that effective, given that he kept flinching away to avoid eye-contact.

Spike turned to the child behind him. “You all right?”

She nodded.

“It’ll be over in a minute, pidge.”

There was doubt behind the child’s eyes, but she did not comment. In that moment, she looked much too old to be so young. 

“ _Spike!_ ”

He whirled around, eyed the Kraelek, and let down the barrier separating himself from his demon. The thing that had been cornered and wounded for too bloody long. He thought of Buffy, of the love he hadn’t asked for but couldn’t shake. The sodding injustice that he’d fallen for the Slayer, and his absolute rage that she had been taken from him. He thought of the righteous merry lot of Scoobies back home, of Dru cackling in his crypt, Darla’s smirking grin and Angelus—

The rage gnawed and clawed and ate away at his insides, and set him into motion.

Spike roared and took a flying leap at the beast. He threw his arms around the Kraelek best he could, then sank his fangs into its neck and tore. He gnashed. He dug. He made it bleed. A foul, repugnant taste invaded his mouth, and he didn’t care. Didn’t care when he felt the skin at his shoulder tear away. Didn’t care when his side screamed out in pain, or when the monster thrashed and clawed at any patch of flesh it could find. Spike growled and bit harder. Bit until his jaw hurt. Bit until everything hurt. Bit until the creature cried out and tossed him to the feet of an awed Wesley and Gunn.

Then the Kraelek’s roars became distant. Spike blinked and looked up just as the beast disappeared into a wall of traffic at the other end of the alley.

There was nothing for a long, long moment.

“Ummm…” Cordelia offered. “Ew?”

Wesley tilted his head, considering, then approached and offered him a hand. “You all right?”

Spike flinched and nodded, his face distorting into a painful frown as he spat the mouthful of blood that hadn’t trickled down his throat back onto the pavement. “Okay,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe that wasn’t as bright an idea as I thought.”

The slayer wannabe had, at some point, broken free of Cordelia’s grasp and made a beeline back to the child. Spike watched them embrace, met the kid’s too-wise eyes, and flinched and shook away his game face.

“You knew what that thing was?” Gunn asked.

“Kraelek demon,” he replied.                                                   

Wesley frowned. “Kraelek? Are you sure? They are non-indigenous to these parts…or anywhere in the American continent, for that matter. They—”

“I know what it was, boy. Don’t go lecturing me. I’ve seen ‘em before. Almost lost Dru to one in Prague.” He shook his head. “That was before the mob, of course.”

“I guess this is where we say thank you.”

Spike turned to the wannabe slayer, who had hiked the tike into her arms awkwardly. The kid looked too old to be carried around like that, but what did he know?

Then the woman looked at him and her face melted into a scowl.

He arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“How did you know we were down here?” she asked, suspicious.

“All the bloody racket was kind of a giveaway.”

Cordelia plastered on what could only be called a salesy smile as she elbowed Spike in the side. “It’s a long story.”

“Yeah, starting with how she’s not a kid.” Gunn pointed at the wannabe slayer. “I thought you said she was a kid.”

“So I screwed up. Okay? At least we found the place. There was still—”

The woman stiffened even more, sending Spike a scathing look. “You were sent here?”

“No, no,” Cordelia said, stepping forward, then pausing as though realizing that might not be the smartest move. “I…we’re good guys, I promise. I just…sometimes know random things. Like when someone’s in trouble.”

“Are you being followed?” Wesley asked, frowning. “Can we help?”

“No. We’re fine. Thank you for your help…we should be getting back.”

“Wait.” Wesley reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet.

“I’m not taking your money,” the girl said.

“Good,” Cordelia responded, her voice regaining some of its edge. “Seeing as we usually charge for what we just did.”

“I’m giving you my card.” Wesley held up a small white business card with a poorly drawn lobster logo on the front. At least, that was what it looked like to Spike at this distance. “If you need anything. Shelter. Protection. Someone to talk to, my number’s on the front.”

A pause. The wannabe slayer studied him for a long minute before offering a snicker. “What? Do business with a vampire?” She turned a pointed gaze to the vampire in question. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

The child in her arms frowned at that. “He saved me, Nikki. He’s not bad.”

“All vamps are bad, hon. You know that.”

“Nikki?” Spike raised his hands and took a step forward, slow and measured, “Knew a bird named Nikki once. Tough cookie. Didn’t take too kindly to vamps, either.” He smiled before turning his attention to the child, cocking his head. “What’s your name, pidge?”

Nikki stiffened. “She’s smart enough not to give her name to—”

“I’m Rosalie,” the girl said, offering a small smile. “Rosie.”

The wannabe slayer grunted. “Kid, your dad’s gonna be pissed.”

Spike took another step forward. “Rosie, I’m Spike. You can tell your mum that this lot here is the do-gooding type. They get off on this white-night rot so you could do worse if you’re in a pinch. Rescuing kiddies is part of the gig.”

“The usually _paying_ gig,” Cordelia muttered.

Nikki’s face remained impassive. “We don’t need help.”

“Right then.” Spike sighed and shook his head, turning back to Wesley. “Can we be going, then? I got me a number to sing.”

And that was that. The four headed back to the car, though Wesley a bit reluctantly. Every few feet, he kept stopping and looking back, but the girl didn’t chase him, and Spike knew she wasn’t going to.

“Just once,” Cordelia said, limping slightly, “I’d like a vision that didn’t include puss or blood or guts or anything ooky. Can’t I have a vision of Keanu Reeves?” She turned her head skyward. “Is that so much to freaking ask?”

Gunn chuckled and patted her back. “Want me to threaten Keanu so the Powers get interested?”

“Would you do that for me?”

“Probably not.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes and poked her tongue out at him, then shook her head and motioned to the scene they’d just left. “That whole thing was weird.”

“Ain’t nothing not weird about puss demons,” Gunn agreed as he helped Cordelia into the car. He turned to Spike once the vampire was situated. “And you. You’re on the verge of seriously wigging me out. You sure you’re a vampire?”

“I believe we all saw the bumpies,” Cordelia observed.

“But since when—”

“It was the girl,” Wesley said softly. “The child. There’s something about her.” He looked into the rearview mirror, then cursed and twisted to meet Spike’s eyes. “Did you feel that?”

“Annoyed? Sure.”

“No. The girl. Rosie.” Wesley frowned. “There was something off about her.”

“The fact that she saw a living, breathing monster and didn’t run screaming for help is a big ass red flag.” Gunn shook his head. “Don’t know what her mom’s thinking, but it’ll get them both killed.”

That wasn’t Spike’s thought, but he didn’t say what he was thinking. He didn’t know if there was anything to say. So he stayed quiet, his mind on the scene they’d just left and as he tried to work out the taste of residual Kraelek.

Then his thoughts turned to Buffy, as they always did, and that jolt of awareness sparked through him once more.

No more bloody distractions. No more visions. No more nothing until he got his answers.

Even still, he couldn’t shake the mental image of the girl. The child with her old eyes. Bloody good thing Dru was out of the picture. She’d have vamped the girl, kept her as a dolly. He didn’t know what it meant that the thought pissed him off, but he was sure it wasn’t good. So he tried to ignore it instead.

And yet, the damn thing persisted.


	12. To My Someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter probably more than I've rewritten the others, namely so I could change the song Spike sings at Caritas. This was done mostly for my own amusement.

The closer they got to Caritas, the more irritated Spike grew with himself.

Ever since the sodding chip, he had managed to adapt based on several principles—the foremost being no matter what he was forced to do, he wouldn’t like it. He would drink bagged blood, but he would not like it. He would kill other beasties, but not because he wanted to. He would save the innocent if they gave cash incentive. At no point would he ever develop empathy for those he rescued. He would never take pleasure in performing good-doer deeds, and he would certainly never put himself at serious personal risk to help another person.

Even if that person was a child.

Tonight, he had broken all those rules.

In all honesty, Spike didn’t know what had come over him, why it had occurred to him now, of all bloody times, to care. After all, this whole trip to LA was due to the fact that he’d gone and fallen in love with his greatest enemy. Saving a child on the way didn’t seem to make much difference—he was already a pathetic excuse for a vamp.

But he could explain why he needed to save Buffy. Loving her was a decent excuse. Well, not decent. Still made him a traitor to his kind, but at least he understood why he needed to do this.

He hadn’t needed to save that girl. He needn’t have enjoyed it, at least.

But he had. And bugger all, that bothered him.

It bothered him a lot.

Why had _this_ child mattered? While it remained true that he hadn’t gone out of his way to kill children in his former life, he certainly hadn’t shied from it. A century’s worth of bodies piled at his feet, and he didn’t care a piss for any of them. For the families that mourned, for the tears that were cried, for the damage he had done. He simply didn’t care.

There were other things that he cared about, though. And it was starting to egg at him in a way that was most unbecoming. It felt like the start of an actual conscience. 

Being around humans was the most sickening punishment anyone could have wished for him. It had taken him too long to shirk off his own humanity. Longer than anyone knew. Even through the early years at Angelus’s side, punishing those who mocked him with a swift spike through the head, shagging Drusilla in the snow of St. Petersburg while laughing at the dead that encircled them—all the while, shoved into some back corner of his mind, there had harbored a voice that wondered if this was what Mother would want. That asked what he had become, and if it was too late to make things right.

But he was a demon. Death was what he was made for. What he was supposed to do. And by committing to the role, acting the part he was supposed to play, by having a good time and ignoring that insipid voice, his conscience had eventually drowned. He had embraced the vampire he was meant to be.

Then Dru had abandoned him and he’d found himself back in Sunnhell for reasons he wouldn’t understand for months. By then, he had all but forgotten how to be human. The word _guilt_ had no meaning. And that was just fine with him because he’d been addicted to what he had become. The power. The rush. Everything that life had denied him, he found in death. By the time the world was ready to accept him again, he had turned his back on the world.

And then Buffy had happened.

Being around humans had ruined him. He was starting to care. Loving the Slayer was just the first. He was starting to care about others, as well. He knew he would kill anyone who dared touch Dawn Summers, and not just because she was Buffy’s sister. He liked Willow and Tara well enough, he adored Joyce, and when the boy wasn’t talking, Xander Harris was tolerable as well. Anya was a bloody hoot and Rupert…well, he was important to Buffy. Plus Spike needed someone that appreciated British humor, and the old man had good intentions.

That was just it. Good intentions. A heart of bloody gold. Everything he was supposed to hate.

It didn’t end there. He had only been in Los Angeles for a number of hours, and he couldn’t complain about the company. Wesley was an all right bloke. Gunn seemed like someone he could get along with, as long as nothing pointy was within proximity. And Cordelia was almost exactly like Anya, except more human. Had the former vengeance demon been born and raised in California, he had no trouble believing she and Cordelia would have been the very best of friends at Sunnydale High. The same as Harmony and the like. People that lived for money and fame.

And now with this new lot. Two faces that he would likely never see again. A  _child_ and her guardian. Mother, babysitter, older sister—it didn’t matter. The fact that he had noticed them at all, gone to the lengths he had to keep them safe, risked what he had risked, felt what he felt…it was enough to make him sick with himself.

But the feeling would not go away.

And here he was. Feeling things he didn’t want to feel. Thinking things he didn’t want to think. Experiencing concern and guilt and all sorts of human sensations he’d thought he’d forgotten.

If his hosts were the humanitarians they claimed to be, they would stake him good and proper now before he did any more damage to his own psyche. As it was, the lot of them were chatting comfortably with each other, laughing, and occasionally looking to him to join in on the joke.

They were an exceptionally strange group.

Spike’s thoughts drifted inevitably to Buffy, as they were wont to do these days. She seemed farther away now than she ever had. It turned his stomach in knots to think of what they were doing to her. What sort of playthings Angelus might have developed a liking for, what sort of new toys he would try for kicks. There was no doubt that Angelus and Darla enjoyed a good, long torture session, but that could mean anywhere from hours to days.

And despite whatever he’d told the crew at Angel Investigations—they really needed to change the name—Spike would kill everyone who had touched her. From the lackeys that had helped bring her in, to the man behind the big desk. Chip be fucking damned.

Of course, he had to consider what he would do about Drusilla. The thought of killing her didn’t make him want to burst into song, but Spike was realist enough to understand that there would be a dusty ending for one of them. He also knew he couldn’t pull all this off by himself.

But he had to try. 

If caring didn’t destroy him first.

“So, Spike,” Cordelia said, twisting in her seat. “Any hints on what you’re going to sing?”

Oh, yeah.

He smirked. “Anyone ever tell you that you have an impatient streak?”

“I’m sorry? What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the pot calling the kettle black.”

Wesley snickered.

“You look like a death metal guy to me,” she went on, speaking as though he hadn’t. “Or something equally lame. Maybe Jimi Hendrix?”

“Bloody genius, that man was.”

Wesley looked at Cordelia aghast. “Surely you don’t mean to suggest that Jimi Hendrix is…lame?”

“Just seeing if you were paying attention, Wes.”

“Are we ignoring the obvious?” Gunn asked, looking over his shoulder. “Billy Idol? I mean—come on! It’d be a hoot!”

Spike snorted. “Right. And I wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

“Well, do you  _like_ Billy Idol?”

“Yeah, actually I do. The boy’s got decent music. I just don’t appreciate the _stealing my look_ parts of his gig.” Spike tilted his head. “Mmm…dunno. If I’m persuaded to do an encore ‘cause the crowd loves my stunning vocals, I might consider it.” A chuckle. “A demon karaoke bar. Still can’t feature the scene. Rupert’d shit himself.”

Cordelia frowned. “Giles? Why?”

“’Cause he sings.”

“He  _what?”_

“Sings. Gets little odd-job gigs around town.” Spike sat back, ignoring Cordelia’s slack-jawed expression. “Actually, the bloke sounds decent. Guess every Watcher has to get his kicks off somehow. Your man kills demons, ours sings. ‘Course, he was unemployed last year and bored out of his skull. Enough so that he watched  _Passions_ with me.”

Cordelia pulled a Regan MacNeil, her eyes wide with excitement. “You watch  _Passions?”_

Spike flinched, looked at her, then turned to Wesley, who had somehow managed to not steer into a signpost. “She always this shrill?”

His answer came in the form of a long sigh.

“I  _love_ that show!” she continued. “Hey, do you really think they’re going to go through with the wedding? Come on! It’s so a not. And what about Timmy? He—”

Gunn caught Wesley’s eye and they nodded. “Cordelia!”

“What? I’m just—”

“Sit down, please. We’re nearly there. You and Spike can discuss the fundamentals of bad television programming when we are not in a moving vehicle.” Wesley grasped her arm with his right hand and jerked her back into her seat. “On the way back to the Hyperion, one of you is riding in the back, or he can come up here. I believe we have established that the vampire is not going to attack.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Took you sods long enough to suss that out.”

“In all fairness,” Gunn observed, “you haven’t proven that you _can’t_.”

“In all fairness,” he replied in the same tone, “I haven’t fancied a headache.”

“Still, I think a demo is in order.” Gunn grinned at him. “Just so we can be sure. Wouldn’t want you to go all bite-happy around a bunch of unsuspecting fleshies.”

“No,” Spike agreed dryly. “We couldn’t have that, could we?” He sank further into his seat and kicked the back of Wesley’s on a whim, then flinched when the chip activated.

There was a whoop of victory from Gunn and a brief swerve as Wesley attempted to regain control of the wheel.

“Spike!” their irate driver bellowed. “I know you can’t die, but _we can._ Please refrain from kicking my seat.”

“Charlie wanted a demo.”

Gunn nodded. “Worth it.”

“Oh thank god.” Wesley said, switching on the blinker. “Parking spot. I believe I’ll catch a taxi home.”

“That mean I get the Angel wheels?” Spike asked. “I promise to only bang it up a little.”

“Hands off the car,” Cordelia said in a frighteningly frosty voice. “So help me, I _will_ stake you if you even so much as damage the paint.”

“Didn’t figure you to be one of those birds that got off on horsepower.”

“On what?” Her voice hit that shrill again, and she started to twist in her seat, but Gunn caught her and steered her back with a laugh.

“It’s a car term, Cor,” he said. “Nothing about horses.”

Wesley killed the ignition and undid his seatbelt in a hurry. “It’s a few blocks down, and this is the best place we’re going to find up the strip, and I want to get out of the car. All right everyone. Spike, I hope you have your number selected. We’re going to be hearing it soon.”

And before anyone could respond, Wesley was out of the car and halfway up the sidewalk.

Spike just grinned and quickly made to follow.

The bar was everything and nothing he would expect of a demon karaoke joint. It was a hodgepodge, comprised of demons of every variety of species, from those that blended into human society to those that actively tried to overthrow it. Some that were dangerous just to sniff and others that were as harmless as kittens. Very few that he could not identify. The whole scene looked as though someone had a right mind to redo the scene from the Star Wars Cantina properly.

Currently at the mic was a green-skinned, horned demon, belting out the soulful lyrics of Etta James’s “At Last”, and hitting notes better than James, herself.

“That’s him,” Cordelia said into his ear, pointing at the stage. “That’s the Host.”

Spike arched an eyebrow. “That’s the bloke that’ll read me?”

She nodded. “Isn’t he good?”

“Bloody fantastic, pet.” His gaze drifted to the mélange species of demon once more, fascinated. “Does everyone sign a peace treaty or what all before coming in? Half these gits have been at war for centuries. I know. I’ve seen it.”

“Caritas is a sanctuary,” Wesley explained. “There can be no violence within its boundaries.”

“Oh, so now I can’t hurt humans or my kind? Spectacular.”

“No one can. That’s the beauty of it.”

The Host finished his number, announced some Gnackner demon was about to take the stage, and immediately set off to see them, a spark in his eyes that he barely disguised as relief.

“Evening, kiddos!” the Host proclaimed loudly, throwing his arms around Cordelia and Gunn. “How goes it? Aside from the ugly death and the homicidal maniac that is your boss, of course. Honestly, I’m surprised you had the stones to show up here in the first place. Someone like woke-up-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-coffin-Angel-cheeks on my tail? Whew! I’d be hiding under the bed.”

Spike snickered.  _Angel-cheeks._

“Watch that,” Cordy said, wagging her finger in the guy’s green face. “I’m going to start believing you’re not glad to see us.”

“Oh, I’m glad. Let me count the ways. Especially to see all of you in three whole-looking pieces.” The Host shuddered and shook his head. “You haven’t had any trouble?”

“Not so much as trouble as the big bad Angelus standing outside the Hyperion, yelling his ass off at us to invite him in from sunset to sunrise two days straight. We haven’t seen him since, but that’s nothing we regret,” Gunn replied. “Your spell worked like a charm, man.”

“As spells are supposed to do,” the Host agreed. “Well, the man himself showed up here last night. Didn’t stay long. Spoke a piece, made some threats, and I think I lost me another bartender, but no harm no foul. He knew enough not to try anything.” He turned swiftly to Cordelia. “You never mentioned that the bad Angel is like a PMSing Martha Stewart. Details are appreciated!”

Spike laughed again, louder this time. Oh yeah. Definitely liked this bloke.

“I thought the ‘nailing of puppies to walls’ sort of covered that territory,” she replied with a grin.

The green fellow shuddered again at that. “Oh thanks, sweetcheeks, for giving me _that_ image again. I had to have Larry the Hashnog demon forcibly remove it last time around. Not exactly an experience I’m looking to suffer through again, but sacrifices must be made.” He unwound himself from Cordelia and Gunn, then turned to Spike with a grin. “And you! You’re one of Angel’s!”

Spike felt his scowl fall back into place. “Wait a bloody minute—”

“No offense, skittles. I just go with the flow.”

“How did—”

“The pout. It’s all about the pout. I’d recognize that glower anywhere.” He turned to Cordelia and leaned over. “You think it runs in the family?”

Okay, whether or not he liked the bloke, no one got away with calling him a sodding Angel-model.

“Temper, temper,” the Host advised him before Spike could threaten him bodily. “It won’t do you any good in here, anyway.” He extended his hand with a friendly. “Hello. I’m Lorne, the owner and operator of this fine establishment.”

On the stage, some horrendous beast was belting out the theme to  _Love Boat._

Wesley’s brow wrinkled. “Lorne?”

The green demon waved airily. “Yeah, yeah. Proper name and all. What? You thought mummy dearest took a look at me and decided to call me The Host? Trust me, where I come from, there is _nothing_ to host. Very sad and I’m sure we’ll shed a few tears later. I’m betting you’re here so sugarbritches can grace us with a number.”

“The name’s Spike, mate. And how the bloody hell—”

“Oh, and he has Angel’s attitude, too!”

“Watch it.”

Lorne inclined his head and clapped Spike on the shoulder. “Only you’re much livelier, pardon the pun. And that accent! To die for. There were times when I thought Angel might as well be an animated mannequin for all the moving around he did.”

“And you’ve made several facial expressions tonight,” Cordelia observed. “That’s way non-Angelish.”

The Host laughed richly. “And I knew because the team at Angel Investigations isn’t dumb enough to risk a trip here for the drinks while the boss is—how shall we put it—on holiday? Since they brought you along, I’m guessing you need to be read. Well, step on up! I love fresh blood around here. Again, pardon the pun.”

“Yo, man,” Gunn grunted. “We’re not gonna cower in some corner just ‘cause Angel’s out there in the not best sense, all right? We’re demon hunters. That’s what we do. The Hyperion’s just—”

“Yeah, yeah. Bygones.” Lorne waved dismissively, then wormed an arm around Spike’s shoulders and steered him toward the stage. “Spike, babe, walk with me, talk with me. We must get you set up for your number. I’m seeing strobe lights, a disco ball, and stylish choreography.”

Spike stopped in his tracks and stared.

“Kidding.” Lorne turned to aim him a grin. “But I do love the attitude. Tell me, sugar, you play any instruments?”

Another hesitant pause. “Why?”

“Because, as often as possible, I like to get authentic performers on my stage. Lindsey McDonald—oh, talk about a voice to die for. Not to mention that boy could _play_! Heaven’s chorus couldn’t compete. That was, of course, before Angelkins decided he did wonders for the one-handed look.” The Host paused again. “So, do you play?”

“Uhh…piano. A bit.” Spike shuffled. That wasn’t quite true. He’d taught himself to play by ear to keep Dru entertained during the years following Prague. Particularly when she’d get a tune stuck in her head and demand to hear it on repeat. But no one knew that and he wasn’t too keen on letting it get out. “It’s been a while, mate. And really, I’d fancy just getting up there and getting this over with without making a big thing outta it. See, there’s this—

“There’s always some _this_ , and chances are it’s either a drug bust or a girl. I’m personally leaning more toward the second.” Lorne put some space between them—finally—and looked him up and down. “Piano, you say? Well, we have keyboards. Not quite the same, but workable. You say workable? I say workable. It’d be easier to haul those on stage than that honkin’ huge piano. We’ll save that for next time.” 

“Listen,  _mate,_ I’d really rather—”

Lorne sighed and draped an arm over Spike’s shoulder again. “Spike, babe, you have to do this anyway. Some things are obviously worth the effort. And you obviously have trouble associating yourself with big daddy, right?”

Spike arched an eyebrow.

“Angel.”

“Yeah. Figured. Can we just _please_ get on with it?” He balled his hands into fists to keep them from trying a chokehold. “I gotta—”

The Host grinned. “The sanctuary spell’s really annoying you, isn’t it? Not used to negotiating with words.”

“More used to it than you’d wager.”

“Well, petals, I think, other than entertaining, outdoing Angelface here’ll be very therapeutic. I take it you’ve heard him. A tune can’t carry  _him,_ let alone the other way around. Let us not rehash that night of the singing undead.” Lorne shuddered, and Spike grinned without realizing it. “You have a helluva voice. I can tell.”

“Is that right?”

“Well, hon, I don’t like to toot my own horn, but I  _do_ do this for a living.” He shooed him forward. “Roberto will bring your keyboard up. We’ll talk after you’re finished.”

The Host was gone the next instant. He reappeared within seconds on stage, announcing their next performer—a Chaos demon, of all déjà vus.

“To be followed by a British baddie with a Billy Idol complex!”

Spike scowled. That joke had been old _before_ Gunn made it, the Host ought not to press his luck. He might like the git, but didn’t mean he wouldn’t rip his throat out as soon as they stepped onto unsanctuarized ground.

_Yes it does._

That voice was becoming a real nuisance. Bloody conscience. 

The Chaos demon performed a breathtaking rendition of “Stand By Your Man”that had the crowd going nuts. He wasn’t necessarily good, but the movements he decided to randomly choreograph were so hilarious that a mime would laugh aloud. Too soon it was over, and it was Spike’s turn on stage.

And he hadn’t the faintest buggering idea what to play.

A bloke hurried out to get the keyboard set up as the crowd chattered. A few minutes later, Spike was sitting behind it, staring at the keys and surfing through his mental catalog of songs. None seemed to fit—and he had bugger all idea why, all of a sudden, what he sang would matter. The result was the same, right? Didn’t matter what he did so long as the Host got a read.

Then he thought about the car ride over, and Cordelia telling him he’d probably go for death metal.

A smirk stretched his lips as he lifted his hands to the keyboard.

He preferred, whenever possible, to turn expectations on their head. After all, it was the rebel’s duty to do the unexpected. So when his fingers began moving over the keys and the first few bars of a song everyone and their bloody cousin would know filled the room, he wasn’t surprised when Cordelia’s voice carried over the crowd.

“No. Way!”

Spike leaned forward, smirking still, and began to sing. _“Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band.”_

And that was as far as he got before the whole bloody club decided to join in. In all his years, Spike had never seen such a sight. Demons of all species looking up, their ugly faces stretching into grins as their voices lifted in the air along with him. He took them through the beats of the song, spurred on by their response. Little by little, the tension in his body began to fade and he started to enjoy himself.

Something he would never have thought possible.

_“Looking on,”_ Spike cooed into the mic, _“she sings the songs…”_

_“Words she knows!”_ croaked the Chaos Demon

_“Tunes she hums!”_ chimed a Deevak, his arm slung around a Pockla.

Spike aimed a glance toward the corner where he knew his mates were and nearly stumbled over the keyboard in trying to swallow a laugh. All three of them had slackened looks on their faces. And all three of them were mouthing the words along with him.

_“But oh how it feels so real,”_ he continued, building up for the last reprise. Excitement beat through the room like a tangible thing. _“Lying here with no one near. Only you. And you can hear me when I say softly, slowly…”_

The bar answered in a jubilant roar. _“Hold me closer, tiny dancer! Count the headlights on the highway!”_

_“Lay me down in sheets of linen,”_ came Cordy’s voice, loud and shrill and very much off-key.

_“You had a busy day today!”_ Gunn answered, sounding a little choked up.

Spike grinned, pounded the keys, and took the song home, his ears burning with the sound of too many voices to separate as they pushed toward the final refrain.

“ _Hold me closer, tiny dancer! Count the headlights on the highway! Lay me down in sheets of linen. You had a busy day today.”_

No sooner had his fingers lifted from the keyboard than did the entire bloody place go nuts. Spike all but bounded to his feet, grinning ear to ear like a sodding lunatic, but fuck, he could get used to being greeted with wolf whistles and applause.

Then he saw the green guy fighting his way to the stage, and the smile melted off his face, the reality of his being here coming back full blast.

“Spikealicious!” Lorne crooned, stepping up to the stage. “That was beautiful! Inspired!”

“What’d you see?”

The Host looked away abruptly and motioned at the audience. “This has to be a first. You might have brokered peace between the Taniska and the Sumtah. Well done, friend.”

The last beats of his good mood vanished. Spike took a step closer and knelt down, his demon roaring. “What did you bloody—”

The smile faded off Lorne’s face, replaced with a sheepish grimace. “Well, here’s the bad news. I didn’t.”

“You what?”

“Or, rather, I did, but there was too much interference.” Lorne waved at the crowd, which was still applauding like mad. “I saw something in the first few lines, but once everyone started in, everything got jumbled. I’m afraid you’ll have to go again.”

Spike closed his eyes, willing patience he didn’t have.

“I can’t turn it off!” Lorne said, throwing up his hands. “It doesn’t work like that. All these folks here broadcast when they sing. Wires get confused. Messages wonky. It’s a whole big thing.” He climbed onto the stage and moved toward the mic. “We’ll get it fixed now, but you might try a song that’s less, uhh, Elton-y.”

Spike bit back a snarl, every line in his body tense. But he had no choice, did he? According to Wesley and Cordelia, this was the best place to get a lead. The Host was the bloke to provide it. So he had to do one more song. It wasn’t the end of the world.

Except for Buffy, it might be.

_Buffy._

Spike’s insides went cold. While he was here, entertaining a bunch of wankers, Buffy was…

_No._

He couldn’t afford to think like that now.

“Well,” Lorne said into the mic, grinning wildly. “I think it’s safe to say that will go down in the Caritas history books. Wouldn’t be surprised if our platinum friend went platinum himself. How would you folks like an encore?”

The answer was immediate and enthusiastic. The Host held up his hands. “All right, but this time, exnay the ing-along-say, ‘kay? Give our man the chance to get his money’s worth.” He turned to Spike and motioned him back up. “Whenever you’re ready, stud.”

And then he was back at the keyboards, staring again at the keys, his ears ringing with cheers from the other patrons, but his mind on Buffy.

On what was happening to her now.

On what this extra few minutes would cost her.

He didn’t have to think too hard before the right song came to mind this time. After a prolonged beat, he brought his hands to the keys again and began a slower, somber introduction.

Then he leaned toward the mic, closed his eyes, and thought of her.

_“So. So you think you can tell, heaven from hell. Blue skies from pain. Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail. A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?”_

If “Tiny Dancer” had brought the house down, this was the opposite. He wasn’t sure if it had been Lorne’s recriminations, the song, or himself. But this one he felt. He couldn’t help but feel.

Spike dragged his fingers up the keys again. _“Did they get you trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change. And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage.”_

He broke for a musical interlude, keeping his eyes on the keyboard.

All he could see was her.

_“How I wish, how I wish you were here,”_ he sang, and sod all, he felt that telltale sting at his eyes. Couldn’t help it, and too late to change his mind. He’d made it this far. _“We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year. Running over the same old ground and how we found the same old fears. Wish you were here.”_

As the final notes drifted off, the bar erupted with another round of fevered applause. Spike rose to his feet, gave his head a good shake, offered a small bow, then bounded off stage before anyone could demand him another encore. No more bloody wasted time. It was straight to Lorne, who had abandoned his seat to give him a standing ovation.

“Enough of that,” Spike growled roughly, brushing past a couple of Rathkis—twins, from the looks of it—who were eyeing him with interest. He only had eyes for the Host now, which he hoped he made clear when he all but threw himself into the seat at the demon’s table. “What’d you see?”

“Boy oh  _boy,_ was I ever right? That was—”

“Stop with the bloody small talk. You snooped around my noggin. I did my bit. Twice, I might add. Now  _what did you see?”_

The Host sank back into his seat and took a prolonged sip of his drink. “The question, honey, is more that I  _didn’t_ see. That is one conflicted cranium you’re supporting on your small albeit muscular shoulders! But first, you have to answer me a question or two. Why ’Tine Dancer’? Pink Floyd seems to fit you much better, but that first one? Never saw it coming.”

“Yeah, that was the point. Turned out to be a bloody waste.”

“I wouldn’t call it a waste! Everyone here had a great time!”

“At the Slayer’s expense.” Spike paused, clenched his teeth and shook his head. “Okay, enough. We’ll have plenty of time to chat about my taste in music later. Now just tell me. What. The. Bloody. Hell. Did. You. See?”

Lorne studied him a beat longer, his head cocked. “You’re a strange fella, Spike. Got yourself all in love with a slayer—the same Angel was so cockamamie crazy about for years, mind you—and now have crossed proverbial oceans to save her from your own kind. All without a soul, mind you. It’s fascinating. Hand me a camera crew and a group of talented actors—preferably including Johnny Depp—and I got me an Academy award winning script.” He took another drink, holding up a hand when Spike opened his mouth to lay into him. The Host lowered his cup, smiled pleasantly, then continued. “You’re setting your own path. That’s amazing. Most vampires are essentially pathless. At least the ones I get in here. They sing and all I see is whom they had for dinner, or whom they will have for dinner. Except your great-grand pappy—of course—and quite frankly, I’d rather not see what’s in his head right now. It’s so rare to meet an evil creature with purpose. Refreshing, really.”

Spike snickered. “You make it sound like it’s been all sunshine and daffodils.”

“Of course not. Purposes are nasty, grueling things that’ll kill you if you let them.” Lorne smiled. “I know this isn’t anything you asked for, pudding. It’s been decaffeinated when you needed your sugar boost and given you one Linda Tripp of a headache instead of energy. Hey—it happens to the best of us.”

 “So is there anything you can tell me besides describing me and my problem? How’s the Slayer? Did you see her? Have they—”

“Slow down, Tiger. The only way I’d have any four-one-one on little Buffalicious is if Angel came in here to sing to me about it. Or the Slayer herself, but no one’s holding their breath for that one. You sing, I see  _your_ path, not hers.”

At that, the irritation that had been pulsing since this insane request was made burst into all out anger. It was enough. “So I came here for nothing? For Chrissake, if you can’t—”

“Not nothing, sweetie-pie. I _can_ tell you that you won’t be alone. You can’t.” Lorne seized a napkin from the table’s dispenser and began jotting something down with a pen that materialized from nowhere. “You missed it once. Can’t afford to make you oh for two.” He slid his scribblings across the table. “And for that, I really should whack you upside the head, you enormous dolt.”

Spike glared at him, confused but too tired and angry to question him. He turned his eyes to the napkin. “What’s this?”

“The address you need to go to.”

“…Why? The Slayer there?”

“No, hon. That’s an alley. Knowing your hunka antihero sire, Buffy’s probably shacked up at good ole Wolfram and Hart. The alley’s your rendezvous point with your guide, so to speak. You’re going to meet someone to help you.”

“What about the Angel Investigation squad team of white hats?”

“Oh, they’ll help. But you need to go to the alley to find the person who will get you in.” 

“Who could I  _possibly_ find in a bloody—”

“Listen, I wanna help you. I really do. And I’ve done what I can. You sang, I read, and this is what your path is screaming. In all languages, brother.” Lorne leaned forward. “You want to help your girl, right?”

_His girl._ Spike softened at that. “More than anything, mate.” 

“All signs point to the alley.” That was it. The Host backed up in his chair, hands coming up. “I’ve done my part.”

Spike watched as Lorne disappeared into a multitude of creatures. A few seconds later, he was on stage announcing the next performer—some Chubra demon singing “Barbie Girl.”

Spike shook his head and turned his attention to the napkin. An alley. Seemed a lot of trouble to go through for such paltry information.

Again, Buffy’s face floated to the top of his thoughts and Spike’s resolve hardened.

It was more than he’d had an hour ago. Not much more, perhaps, but it was enough for now. It had to be.

Anything that got him closer to her was worth it.


	13. His Pleasure is My Pain

It had been years since she had a lucid dream. She’d even started to wonder if such dreams even existed. But now, Buffy had her answer. Because the world she was in right now was fiction. It had to be.

“Looky, looky,” rang a childish voice from the far right, followed by a giggle. “The little birdie heard our call, grandmum.”

“That was very thoughtful,” another voice decided. Moving. She couldn’t tell where her other captor was. “After all, we did extend her invitation personally. It would’ve been _rude_ to stand us up.”

“Time for cake and hats,” agreed the other. “Shall we call Daddy down? He will be most disappointed if we start the party without him.”

A moment while the other speaker contemplated. “No,” came the answer. “I told Angelus that I want some time with our new friend before he broke her in. I think I deserve it, seeing as she’s the one that got me killed.” The voice’s owner took a step toward her. “Isn’t that right, Miss Buffy?”

Buffy felt her insides collapse and hot tears sprang behind her eyes.

_Oh god._

“Hmmm,” Darla cooed a second later. “That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I just asked her a question. Dru, honey, you don’t suppose she’s gone deaf, do you?”

There was a thud, then a cackle. Something had fallen to the ground. The mad vampire’s giggles tore through the still air. “Shh. Little birdie’s playing possum. Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping the night away. Can’t have fun if the guest wants to nap.”

“No, no fun at all.” Darla sounded much nearer now. So close Buffy’s skin seemed to hum. “Well, we’ll have to wake her up, won’t we? You know how much your daddy likes to play with his food.”

“Oh yeah,” Drusilla said. “Make ‘em bleed. Raw. Tasty. Wakey, wakey little Buffy. It’s time for the party. You wouldn’t want to be late.”

Buffy kept her eyes closed, begging for unconsciousness. Begging for anything to take her from here, because dammit, she was going to cry, and she hadn’t cried in a long time. After all, crying was for the weak.

Sure, she’d cried when Riley left. She had cried when Riley wanted himself dead rather than fix himself. She had cried for Angel. She had cried when she killed him and she had cried when he left. She had cried for her mother—oh, she had cried for her mother.

Buffy honestly couldn’t remember when she cried for herself. And here she was, refusing to open her eyes. Stripped, ripped and on display. Her arms were chained—it felt like she was hanging from the ceiling. Her legs were similarly shackled, but her feet did not touch the ground. She was suspended in midair with nothing against her back and nothing beneath her toes.

 _More._ Cold air nipped at every newly reopened wound. She felt dried blood crusted against dirtied skin, and realized she’d been denied the dignity of clothes.

She was completely vulnerable. And what was worse—she felt it.

“Come on, Buff,” Darla drawled. “We know you’re awake. You’re just making it worse on yourself. I know I have a few things I’d like to clarify before we… Well, we’ve already begun, but you were enjoying your snooze, and really, it would’ve been rude to wake you. Dru and I have no tolerance for rudeness. Do we, Dru?”

A bark from the side. “She stinks of goodness. It’s all over her. Inside her. Shall we carve it out of her, grandmum? Make pretty colors and rearrange the patterns? It would please Ms. Edith.”

Darla released an exasperated sigh at that. “I swear, one more word about Ms. Edith, and I’m going to throw that wretched thing into the furnace, you understand? God, I don’t know how Angel does it.” A pause. “If it had been my choice,” she continued, her voice low and conspiratorial, “she would’ve met dust years ago.”

“Hush! Your sour words will spoil the party.”

“There won’t be a party unless our slayer decides to wake up.” The sound of movement, and Darla felt even nearer. “Come on. I swear, we’re going to start again here in a minute with or without you. And I’m sure Angelus will wake you up. His methods might seem a little antiquated, but that’s only because he thoroughly enjoys a lively session.” A delighted cackle rang giddily through the air. “Oh god! You wouldn’t believe his bloodlust. He’s gotten so inventive this past century. Life at his side was always fun, but now it’s so good it simply  _must_ be fattening. I tell you, the man is an _artiste_.”

That did it, for better or worse. Buffy opened her eyes to her reality.

And immediately wished she hadn’t.

“Oh, look!” Darla clasped her hands together. “There she is!”

“The guest of honor has arrived,” Drusilla informed a line of century-old dolls. A dozen empty faces staring at her with equally empty eyes. “It’s time to start the party.”

“Looking a bit worse for the wearer, if you ask me,” Darla added as though she was gossiping to a noisy neighbor. Then her face grew pensive and she stepped forward. “Not so tough now, is she? Oh god! I think she’s crying! Dru, honey, we made the Slayer cry! How precious!” She threw her head back and cackled again. “Could it be that _this_ is the very same face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Weeping in front of her enemy? This sniveling…thing?” Another short laugh, then Darla closed the distance that separated her from Buffy and slapped her, hard. “You disgust me.”

“Ohh!” Drusilla squealed, rolling onto her stomach. “Do it again! Do it again!”

Darla cast her companion a wary eye but shrugged. “Angel always told me it was better to keep her happy. Do you think we ought to try?”

Another elated shriek tickled the air. Drusilla was practically salivating.

Buffy’s cheek burned more with the first blow than the second, but she flinched all the same. And she hated herself for it.

“Now then,” Darla continued. “Where to begin? There are so many venues to explore, and I can’t tour them all. Angelus has claimed that right. He was already generous enough to allow Dru and me this opportunity to break you in.”

It came unbidden—a sudden rush of strength that Buffy seized and held. “You’re better to kill me now,” she said, her voice scratchy, her throat on fire. Every movement forced a surge of pain through her aching muscles—pain that was easy to ignore in quick bursts, but not in waves. “Whatever it is that you want from me, you won’t get it.”

Darla looked at her askance.

Then started to laugh.

“Good god!” she cackled. “I think I underestimated your superiority complex. Hon, we don’t want _anything_ from you.” Darla leaned forward, her eyes burning with rage, though the rest of her remained calm. When she spoke again, her voice was level and composed. “We just want you to scream over and over and over again.”

“Is it because of Angel?” Buffy closed her eyes as her muscles again threatened to collapse. Her arms were stretched and aching; if she were any less of a person, she _would_ have screamed her entrails out by now. But she didn’t and she wouldn’t. Crying had been bad enough—she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream. “Because he chose me over you? You’re jealous? Is that what—”

“Please.” Darla rolled her eyes. “This has nothing to do with your precious  _Angel._ Tell you the truth, I’m over it. Been there, done that, had my rebound guy.”

“Mmmm…” Drusilla cooed, licking her fingers. “He was tasty.”

“A screamer,” Darla agreed. “Then Lindsey came along. Safe, gullible Lindsey. Who never says no. Well…” She grinned. “Not to me, at least. Angelus being here, while cause for celebration, is purely coincidental. And trust me, dearie, if it weren’t for the Senior Partners, chances are I would’ve gotten bored with you by now. You see, Angel was the one who liked his victims alive. I just wanted them to bleed.” 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “You seem to be going out of your way, though,” she said, flinching inwardly as her muscles strained. “Playing nice with the Slayer until it’s Angel’s turn?”

Darla shrugged. “Waste not.” She turned away, backing toward her loony companion, who remained sprawled on the floor, playing with fine whispered strands of her dark hair. “There’s no point in making trouble at home. Angelus and I have a lot of rebuilding to do. Old trust—not that there ever was any. No, ours was a simple love. Comfortable. Casual. The occasional slaughter of a convent. Angel has a thing for convents. Had he told you? No. Of course he hadn’t.”

Something sharp jabbed her side. Buffy buckled against nothing and her arms strained at the movement. When she looked, though, there was nothing at all. An old wound must have acted up.

That hadn’t happened in years.

“Double, double, toil and trouble.” Drusilla giggled, rolling onto her stomach. “You’ve been a naughty girl. It isn’t right to take toys that don’t belong to you. No. There should be enough candy for all the girls and boys.”

Buffy stared at her blankly, surprised when she felt a surge of newfound respect for Spike’s stamina. The peroxide pest might have been a thorn in her side, but he had to be more patient than she’d ever given him credit for to both understand Drusilla and love her despite the fact that she was completely mad. Buffy hadn’t been around Dru enough to appreciate just how crazy she was, and the Spike she’d gotten to know over the past couple years seemed far removed from this.

Buffy had known him when he and Dru were together and when they were apart, but she’d never actually _seen_ them together to figure out how their relationship worked. And right now, she couldn’t picture it.

“She doesn’t care, grandmum,” Drusilla continued, lolling her head to the side. “She doesn’t care that she’s stealing all our toys.”

Buffy blinked. “What?”

“Bad, wicked girl,” the insane vampire hissed. “Caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Nowhere to run. No one to blame it on.”

Buffy inhaled. _Note to self: never get involved with a souled vampire again. Ever. ‘Cause when he loses it, there’s hell to pay._

Even though she and Angel hadn’t been together in two years. Even though they didn’t even live in the same damn city anymore, she was still being punished for having ever loved him.

Finally, finding strength, Buffy said, “I thought you didn’t care about Angel.”

“I never said that,” Darla replied. “But Dru takes it a bit personally.”

“Well,” Buffy retorted, closing her eyes as she attempted to flex again. “Sounds to me like someone’s calling the kettle black.”

Darla shrugged. “That might be true, but you can’t blame her for being miffed, now can you? You do seem intent on stealing all of Drusilla’s favorite things. As if Angel wasn’t bad enough—you took the one thing Dru ever had all for herself. I’d be a little pissed about that too.”

_What?_

“What?”

Darla blinked,  then slowly smiled. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. This is just too funny. You really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

She shook her head and turned to Drusilla. “Honey, it’s okay,” Darla cooed. “It appears this was all one big mistake.” She turned back to Buffy, her eyes dancing. “Though I can’t believe you don’t see it, Buff. Especially after he rushed to your aid so gallantly.  God, you should have seen his face when I told him you were in danger. It was so—what’s the word—priceless.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Darla shrugged. “It doesn’t matter much, anyway. Dru won’t listen to me.”

As if in agreement, Drusilla released a mournful wail and rolled over again, clutching her stomach. “He calls for her. Oohh, grandmum. He’s so deliciously furious. My dark prince is furious with me. He burns. He wears her like a mask. She is…” Dru sat up suddenly, snarling, dark eyes burning. “She’s stealing him away from me.”

“She’s not going to get far,” Darla reassured her. “Oh no. Our friend here is not going anywhere.”

Buffy was still confused but forced herself to shove that aside for now. She had enough problems without adding decrypting an insane vampire’s ramblings to the mix.

And something told her that she would have plenty of time to think about it in the coming days.

“I have friends who will come for me,” Buffy said.

Darla smiled dryly. “I don’t doubt it. Humans are so predictable.” 

“You won’t hold me here forever.”

“I have no intention to.” She shook her head. “You’re the Slayer. You’re not supposed to have friends and family. And yet you do, and by some small twist of fate, you’ve managed to make your way this far in life. It won’t last. I knew a slayer like you once. Not complete with the staff support, of course, but just as cocky, and that was what got her killed. Guess what? She broke just like the rest of them. The Master barely had to stretch his legs to do it.”

Buffy quirked an eyebrow. “But I killed the Master.”

A pulse of fury flashed behind Darla’s eyes. “Yes,” she said, “you did. You were a little girl and you got a little lucky. Nevertheless, _we_ are not the Master. We’re not like the other vampires you’ve slain. You met Angel when he was sniveling soulboy. You saw him as Angelus and still underestimated him. You saw Dru when she was sickly and didn’t know how inventive that twisted little mind can get. You saw me before I was killed by the only person in this world who _could_. That’s over now. And Spike, dear William…I don’t even know where to begin.” She shook her head. “We’re the real thing, Buffy. We’re the vampires that brought the world to its knees. And the sooner you accept that, the better.” A significant pause. “Your little friends won’t find you here. Even if they did get into Wolfram and Hart, trust me, we’d know. And we’d take care of it. For their sake, you better hope they stay far, far away.”

Buffy’s glare did not fail her, and for that she was glad. Dried tears had crusted around her eyes and her body was cold, but she met her enemy’s stare, match for match and did not blink.

“I’ve had enough,” Darla decided the next minute. “Dru, it’s time to let Daddy and the naughty Slayer have some alone time. All right?”

“Oohhh.” Drusilla pouted. “Things were about to get interesting.”

“Don’t worry. They will.”

Then they were gone, leaving Buffy to the cold once more.

And despite herself, she drifted, entering that hazy place between rest and wakefulness. When she started again, though, her mind was instantly alert. Sharp and clear. She was still chained in the middle of an anonymous, windowless gray room. Her muscles still ached. Her eyes were still swollen. And she was still abandoned.

Only she was no longer alone.

A vampire with the face of an angel was in the doorway.

A long shudder ran through her body, and Buffy allowed herself to fear.

Giles had never told her about his torture sessions with Angelus. On some days, she noted a limp in his walk that hadn’t been there before Acathla. She’d never mentioned it, though, but it was there all the same.

Buffy held Angelus’s gaze best she could, willing herself not to speak or cry. Not anymore. She’d already shown them her tears—she refused to show them her pain.

Not even when he raked his gaze down her naked, exposed body. Not even when he graced her with a smile that did more just by existing than Darla had been able to do with words. Not even when he neared so close that she could feel him. She would not scream.

Angelus leaned close, capturing a lock of hair between his nimble fingers. “Hello, lover.”

She would not scream.

*~*~*

Lindsey McDonald didn’t know how late it was. It wasn’t unusual for the cogs in the Wolfram and Hart wheel to go days without seeing daylight. He was one such cog.

And he couldn’t stop staring at the face frozen on his monitor.

To her credit, the Slayer had pulled through. When she could have sobbed, she’d refrained. When she could have shouted, she’d remained mute. When she could have begged, she’d bitten her tongue.

But he hadn’t.

A picture was worth a thousand words.

That was how Lilah found him. Sitting in the dark, studying the security feed, gently outlining the pain contorted on the Slayer’s face with his index finger. He was so deep in thought that he didn’t even register her presence until she flicked on a light.

“You know,” she said, “this is becoming a rather bad habit of yours.”

“Hello, Lilah,” he replied without looking up.

“I’d have to say you’re developing the Angel-syndrome. First Darla and now—”

“It’s not about her,” Lindsey said. And it was the truth. He didn’t know what it was.

Only that it was growing stronger, had been since she’d attempted to flee his office. Had spurned into something greater as he’d watched them prepare her. That gnawing feeling that attacked his insides, the knowledge that someone good was being tortured by someone he hated. The reality that he had made it all possible.

It was eating him up.

He hated it. But that didn’t matter a damn.

“They don’t know about this, do they?” Lilah gestured to the security cameras.

“No. And they won’t.”

“You’re going to destroy yourself,” she said, moving to exit. “Not that it matters to me. By all means, destroy away.”

The light went off again. She was gone.

Lindsey stared blankly as Buffy Summers’s face contorted in pain. He had done that. He had done that without touching her at all.

The twisting inside took a violent turn.

This was no way to live.

With a heated sigh, he rose to his feet and forced himself to snap the tape off. Watching wasn’t doing. He needed to be doing.

It only took a second to decide. Then he was in motion, grabbing the phone. Dialing. Now before he could change his mind. Before his inner demons again shouted down his better angels.

He couldn’t be this guy anymore. It would kill him.

“Get me Kate Lockley,” he barked into the receiver.


	14. Thou Art the Man

There was a bloody annoying song stuck in his head, and that was the least of Spike’s troubles. For a man who had traveled the world several times over, he had the sinking suspicion that he was lost.

Granted, there hadn’t been much to go on since leaving Caritas. He had stopped once at some second-rate novelty shop where a Mahayle demon—wearing its human disguise—fed him some rot about men never asking for directions before proceeding to get him more turned around than he’d been already.

It was easy to see why Angel had relocated here. A dark city crawling with beasties and poor sods needing help. Not to mention it was a stone’s throw away from Sunnyhell—enough distance to pretend he’d moved on from Buffy all while remaining a phone call away. Los Angeles pulsed with enough despair to make any creature of the night feel right at home. If it wasn’t the demons and their victims, the impoverished and the beaten, the stink of shattered Hollywood dreams was enough to choke a normal man.

What was worse, all of this sparked the inner poet Spike had thought long dead. Suddenly, his mind was filled to the brim of enough new ideas to fill a thousand hapless sonnets. He hated it. Reduced again to what he had thought he had escaped. Though if he were being honest with himself, the old muse had been singing a right tune since the morning after the dream that had changed his life.

After all, Buffy had redefined effulgence for him.

Bugger all.

Spike forced the thought away. He had a city to explore.

He also needed to ring Giles. The old man would be aching for an update, and Spike needed to know what the Council of Wankers had told them—if the Scoobies intended on staying in Sunnydale or not.

And if he couldn’t cross _mysterious rendezvous_ off his list, he might as well get the phone call behind him.

Spike spied a payphone at a corner that separated two virtually identical pubs, and, without realizing it, started digging change out of his pockets and nearly pulled out Wesley’s business card along with it. The former Watcher had passed it on to him before he’d left Caritas, just in case he decided he needed help and didn’t know how to reach them.

_“Dressed up like a million-dollar trooper,”_ Spike sang absently, making a distant note to rip the spine out of whatever unholy creature insisted on singing such an overused oldie. Not that he didn’t appreciate the oldies, mind you. He just didn’t fancy them stuck on repeat in his cranium.  _“Tryin' hard to look like Gary Cooper—super-bloody-duper. Come let's mix where Rockefellers walk with sticks or um-ber-ellas in their_ … Hello? Rupert? Yeah, it’s me.”

“I don’t suppose this is a call confirming that you have Buffy in the safety…well, not safety, but—”

“I’m callin’ from a dingy alley near midnight in a city where Angelus is king. Do you really want me to answer?”

“Point taken.” There was a sigh. Spike could nearly hear the old man polishing his glasses. “So, what have you discovered?”

“Right now, a blessed-bloody-little.” It was more than difficult to keep his bitterness about this out of his voice, though he gave it his best. Giles was already more than suspicious at Spike’s enthusiasm to do something altruistic. Perhaps it would have been better if he’d asked for a cash payment before he’d left, just to keep up appearances.

“Explain ‘little,’” Giles said.

“Well, Cordy, Wes, and this bloke called Charlie dragged me to some demon bar, and—”

_“You’ve been wasting time gallivanting at a bar?”_

He nearly dropped the phone in shock, his ears ringing. Bloody hell, Spike swore that the bloke sitting on the stools of the neighborly bar flinched at that. By the time the buzzing had worn off, Giles was in mid-tangent about how he’d foolishly trusted Spike with this endeavor. It took several seconds to cut through the Watcher’s embittered ramblings, but finally, Spike got a word in that cut Giles off in mid-scolding.

“…a karaoke pub?”

“Right. You sing, this green wanker tells you your fortune or what all, and I guess in my case, he sends blokes down random alleys to find their guides.” Spike paused and shook his head. “This is beginning to sound like a very bad Japanese film.”

He had to credit Giles; it didn’t take much to change his tune. The Watcher switched from infuriated to intrigued in two seconds flat. “A demon that can patch into one’s psyche. How fascinating. I’ve never—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m sure you and the faithful Scooby patrol will have oodles of fun researching that after I hang up. The Council still there?”

At that, Giles’s voice grew softer. As though he had forgotten about the presence of twenty tweed-donned people surrounding him. “Quite. And none too happy with the absence of the Slayer.”

“She’s on bloody sabbatical.”

“If only.”

There was a sigh, and without any prompt, Spike knew a very personal, very difficult question was on the horizon. He felt in stirring in his gut. The same that the lot of them had been dancing around since he’d revealed that Dru and Darla had their sights set on Buffy. And no matter how much it hurt to consider, he knew it needed to be asked. They had to make it real.

That didn’t make hearing it any less painful.

“Spike,” Giles began, “what…you would know better than anyone. What do you think our chances are…of seeing her again?”

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, teeth clenching. “I wish I could say something to reassure you, mate,” he replied after a silence, “but I really don’t know. As you know, Angelus is one to fuck his food…but he likes ‘em fresh. Bloody enough to—”

“That’s enough.”

He was glad the old man had stopped him. The thought alone had his insides raging.

“I’ll do my best by her, Rupert.”

Another respective silence. Shorter this time, but no less significant.

“I…” Giles swallowed audibly. “I know. Don’t ask me to explain how or why, but I know. It’s the strangest thing.”

_You’re telling me._

“Yeah, well, we can talk over the particulars later. I don’t know if whatever I’m meeting or finding in the alley’s on some sorta schedule.” Spike sighed into the phone. “I’ll give you a call come morning.”

“I don’t trust you. I believe you’re helping, but I want to be perfectly clear—I don’t trust you.”

That statement was so abrupt it made him grin. “I know,” Spike replied with a short chuckle. Then he hung up.

It was time to get this over with, even if there wasn’t much to go on. No scents that struck him as remarkable. No sights he wouldn’t see anywhere else. But after he took a few steps down the alley proper, Spike became aware of something important. 

He wasn’t alone.

Not only that, but he was being watched. And he couldn’t see who by. All he knew was that the peeper was a human male.

That was curious. The only human Spike knew who could sneak up on him was Buffy.

There was no fear in the air. Another oddity. Spike might have been out of practice, but he knew when humanly types were unsettled. His new friend was not. This brought a smile to his face. He was tempted to allow his bumpies to emerge and see if that earned a response, but something told him it didn’t matter.

Whoever was here already knew who he was.

On any other day, Spike would have played this out and had some fun. But fun was not something Buffy could afford. Fun meant time, and he had precious little of it.

“Right,” he said, his eyes taking another tour of the alley. “Give it up. Who’s there?”

A few beats of silence. Nothing.

“Notice how I said, ‘who’s there’. I know I’m not addressing the friendly neighborhood dumpster.” Spike stalked forward slowly, gesturing to the dumpster in question. “No point in hidin’, mate.”

More silence.

“Come on. I’m getting bored talking to myself.”

There was a rustling then, and Spike whirled just in time for his eyes to become level with the wrong end of a crossbow.

“I find that rather doubtful,” said his new friend.

Then he fired the arrow.

Pain jolted through him, sending Spike to his knees, a roar ripping off his lips. He burst into game face before he could help himself. “Oi, mate!” he snarled, grasping the end of the arrow, now buried in his left shoulder. “That supposed to be funny?”

“No.” More shuffling and the crossbow lowered, revealing a pair of very stern chestnut eyes, molded into a war-weathered face. “That was your warning shot. You have ten seconds before I fire again. And trust me, the word  _miss_ is not in my vocabulary.”

Spike rolled his eyes and clamored to his feet, grip on the arrow tightening before he yanked it free. The scent of dead blood hit the air and prompted an untimely growl from his stomach—he hadn’t eaten since leaving Sunnydale.

“If this,” he said shortly to no one in particular, “is that green maggot’s idea of a joke, I’m gonna rip his innards out.”

“And yet you’re still standing here. I think the count’s down to three.”

Spike snarled. “Right. Real intimidating. You know who I am, boy?”

The man’s whiskered jaw tightened. “Well, the face suggests vampire,” came the retort. “Everything else screams William the Bloody. And I’m willing to bet that even if I am wrong, there isn’t a single person who would care.” The man raised his crossbow again, cocking his head to the side. “Okay, time’s up.”

Another arrow flashed in his direction. Spike was prepared. He caught the small projectile before it could do any damage and tossed it to the pavement.

“Love the attitude,” he snapped. “I take it we’ve met? Lemme guess… Once upon a time, I killed your sister. Or your uncle. Or your missus. Or—”

“Shut up!”

Spike arched an eyebrow. Bloody hell, maybe he had.

This was not good.

He was  _really_ going to kill Lorne.

“Listen, mate,” he said, hands coming up before it occurred to him that leaving his heart vulnerable was likely not in his best interest. “Whatever I did, whoever I killed…well, it’s not like killing me’s gonna bring them back. And frankly, I have better things to do than rassle this out.”

“Touching as that is,” the man replied, “you’re not the one I’m looking for.”

Spike looked pointedly to the crossbow.

“That doesn’t mean,” his new friend continued, “that I’m not going to kill you anyway. Your existence is crime enough as far as I’m concerned.”

“And yet,” Spike said, “I’m willing to bet that I was here first. Look, I got no quarrel with you, so if you’ll just—”

“You’re actually trying to barter your way out?”

“What? This not a time for diplomacy?”

“A diplomatic vampire. I thought I’d never see it.” The crossbow lifted a bit, but it was more in gesture than in threat. “You’re not living up to your reputation, William.”

Spike hated to admit it, but he was impressed. Whoever this bloke was had obviously done his homework. Enough to know him without a proper introduction. That likely meant one of his family members was responsible for the chip on his shoulder, which could work to his advantage. “The name’s Spike. And for someone who seems to know so much about me, you might look into your more recent chapters.” He pointed his temple. “Can’t fight, have to be tactful. Got me a handicap.”

“Is that a fact?” The man shrugged. “Well, I usually try to refrain from killing a man with glasses. Unfortunately, your vision’s fine and you’re not a man. So excuse me for not caring, but I don’t.”

Well, that had backfired spectacularly. If killing him was the hunter’s intention, Spike was struck with the radical realization that he could. The bloke was human and had a weapon he had proven he knew how to use. And as quick as Spike might be, he wasn’t so daft as to think he could evade those arrows forever.

And if he died, Buffy died.

It was better to try and keep the man talking.

“Who was it?”

“What?”

“Who was it? You’re sprouting off way too much fact and not enough fiction, not to mention a little testy about my relatives. You know about the Order of Aurelius and I’m guessing have a few clues as to its key members. So who was it? Dru? Grand-pappy Angelus? Hmm?”

“That what?”

“That hurt you.”

A pause. “Why do you care?”

Spike looked pointedly to the crossbow. “Do I really need to clarify?”

The man snickered. “Of course. You think you have a chance of talking me out of this?”

“Now, there’s a thought.”

“You don’t. Give it up, blondie.” 

“Oh, name-calling, are we?” Spike’s gaze traveled briefly to the hunter’s strands. He had a head of chestnut hair to match his eyes, but even the darkness of the alley could not blind his vampiric eyesight to the bleached tips. “Doesn’t seem like you have much room to talk.”

“Gave it up. It was a bit too high school for my taste.”

“Look, I don’t wanna—”

“What, hurt me? First of all, you couldn’t. Second of all, bullshit.”

That was it. Spike pounced, forcing the crossbow’s aim to the ground with one hand and socking its holder as hard as he could with the other. The chip fired before the hit even had a chance to connect, but that didn’t stop him from knocking the man off his feet and into the wall on the other side of the alley. 

“Bloody hell!” Spike shouted, bringing his hand to his cranium. “See? This is what I’m saying. Jump to conclusions and people get hurt.”

“You’re not people,” the man snarled. 

And then lunged.

Where the crossbow had gotten off to, Spike hadn’t the faintest, and he wasn’t sure if he preferred an all-out fists and fangs brawl that he couldn’t participate in without triggering his neurological bug-zapper or a date with arrows. He was buggered no matter which way he turned.

The chip _had_ to go.

The face-off quickly became a game of dodge. Spike located the discarded crossbow and tossed it into the dumpster he had seen earlier. Before he could turn around, however, two masculine hands grasped by the shoulders and he was on the ground the next instant.

“Come on, you bastard,” the man snapped. “Drop it.”

“Me?” Spike repeated. “You’re the one with a sodding attitude problem.”

“I wasn’t aware that there was a Vampire Awareness Week. See, by my book, you can’t dust too many.”

That was it. He was tired of playing nice—especially when this was evidently the bloke he had been sent to find. What good was he going to do anyone if he was dead? “All right. That does it. Who the hell are you? Some kinda slayer wannabe?” Spike rolled to his feet. “Brassed ‘cause you have a pair too many to qualify for the job? You’re in over your head.”

The hunter paused at that. “What the fuck is a slayer?”

Oh. Sod. All.

With a huff of frustration, Spike pivoted, every frustration he’d managed to keep at bay pressed against his chest. And fuck, this time, he couldn’t hold himself back. Rage in its purest concentrate coursed through his veins. In all his years, he couldn’t remember being so angry. Not when Angelus had taunted him. Not when Dru had left him. Not even after he’d realized he was in love with the enemy. This was fury of a different breed. His jaw fell open and then he was screaming into the dark. “What the bloody _fuck_ am I doing out here? I don’t have time for you to fuck with me! I don’t have time to be pointed in a bunch of novelty directions while you sit on your less-than-holy arses and have a bloody good laugh. She’s gonna  _die_ if you—”

“Who the  _hell_ are you talking to?”

“The filth. The smog. The roaches. The wankers who are having a right jolly old time while he _tears her apart._ Take your bloody pick.” 

There was a beat of hesitance. “You’re just trying to distract me. It won’t work.”

Spike rolled his eyes and turned back to his adversary. “I’m not trying anything, mate. But it looks as though you’re already distracted.”

The next thing he knew, he had been forced to the ground once more, and he saw his own fury and despair reflected back at him through eyes that had known pain. Pain that another of his kind—perhaps his own family—had placed there at some point. But that only held the Spike’s attention for a second. 

There was a stake in the hunter’s hand, and the hunter’s arm was pulled back.

Spike’s eyes went wide.

It was time for one of those distractions. Something completely random, wholly unexpected, and the last thing anyone would think to hear from a vampire. His mind raced to an image of Xander playing some insipid James Bond video game in the days where they had been roommates, and without giving time to reconsider, he held out a hand and cried, “Stop in the name of the British government!”

Yeah, that had to be the dumbest thing that had ever crossed his lips.

But bloody hell, it worked.

The man’s arm faltered and his face fell, utter bewilderment soaring behind his eyes. “What?”

Spike flashed a grin and rolled to his feet. In an instant, he had the hunter stranded without a weapon and was effectively putting his technique of ‘hitting without the intention of hitting’ front to good use. The same he had pulled on the Slayer several weeks ago outside the Bronze, which worked like a bloody charm until he mimicked the act that had gotten him on the pavement in the first place. He tossed the man to the ground with unrestrained hostility and, again, blinding pain exploded behind his eyes.

And that was it. He was over and he knew it. This bloke, whoever else he was, was the type to learn from his mistakes and take advantage of the mistakes of others. Spike was down for the count, unable to blink as the chip spasmed. The stake would be coming any second now.

Any sodding second.

Spike opened his eyes.

The hunter was standing a few feet away, his gaze fixed on something in his hand.

A business card. 

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” came the soft murmur. 

Spike shook his head, forcing the last of the chip’s shock away, and stared at the man in disbelief. “You can read that?” he demanded, climbing to his feet. “Bloody hell, I never thought I’d find a human with eyesight better than mine.”

“Years of practice. How do you know Wes?”

“Just an acquaintance, really.” Spike realized he was panting needlessly, as though he had just given his all at a track meet. It had been more than a long time since he’d had a good brawl with anything. He missed it with such fervor that it nearly broke him on bad days. In different circumstances, Spike would have been the first to admit that a fight like this—one he wasn’t sure he’d survive—was just what he’d needed. He hadn’t had this since…

Well, since Buffy and the Gem of Amara. Since Buffy _period._

For now, it occurred to him that perhaps Lorne might not have been playing him a fool. Spike studied the man intently before moving forward. Not close enough to open himself up to an encore, but to let other details set in. An unshaven chin, dark used-to-be-bleached hair, a set jaw, and he already knew the eyes. Eyes that had known death at a vampire’s hands.

“Wes would,” the hunter continued, shaken, “associate with vampires?”

“Depends on the vamp. He was one of Angel’s for a while.” The look he received was clearly stunned. “Before the wanker went out and lost his soul again. From what I know of him, Wes doesn’t fancy siding with demons that’re out…well…demonizin’ every night.”

“So he’s one of yours now?”

“No. He’s just helping me.” Spike hazarded another step closer. “Listen, mate. I don’t know who the hell you are or why you seem determined to shove a stake in my chest, other than the obvious. But _you_ know who _I_ am.”

“Yes. I’ve done my research.”

“You a watcher, then?”

Well, that hardly followed. If he was a watcher, he would sure as hell know what a slayer was. One would think. _Dumb question, Spike._

Yet the answer he received surprised him.

The man snickered. “Hardly.” 

“But you know what one is?” 

A shrug. “Wes was one. That’s all I know.” The man paused a moment, then glanced up. “I’m a vampire hunter”

“Sussed that much out for myself, funnily enough. Any particular reason?”

He quieted. 

“Okay. We’ll work up to the personals, then.” Spike decided to go for broke. The stake was immaterial at the moment and there wasn’t much that his opponent could do to harm him without a weapon at the ready. “So you have it in for vamps specifically.”

“Gee, whatever gave you that idea?”

“The Order’s being reassembled. My own sodding family tree. Angelus, Darla, Dru—the whole bloody works. I take it you’re familiar with them, too.” He didn’t need a reply to confirm that theory. “And they happen to—”

“You’re William the Bloody.”

“Well, yeah. As we’ve established.”

“Why aren’t you with them?”

Spike had reached his limit on how many times he could stand to hear that question, especially from people who didn’t know him particularly well. “It’s complicated,” he replied gruffly. “Let’s just say, there’s this girl.”

“Ah. Always about a girl.”

“Not just any girl. Chosen bird. Slayer. Killer of evil things.”

“Evil things like you, you mean? Sounds like a really bad episode of _Passions_.”

Spike smirked. At least the sod had taste.

“Let me guess,” the hunter continued. “You’re the big bad monster tripping over himself for a chance at the one girl he’s never supposed to have.”

“Something like that.”

“And you want me to help you?”

“No. I want you to help her.” He sighed. “This particular slayer has a bit of bad history with vamps belonging to the Aurelius clan. And now they have her. Don’t wanna picture what they’re doing to her. What they’re—”

“Wait, wait, wait. Please speak into my good ear. You’re against this? You’re willing to go against your…” The hunter trailed off, having evidently read the answer in the vampire’s eyes. “Wow. Now  _there’s_ something I’d never expected to find in a vampire, even for a girl. She must be a hottie.” 

Spike smiled. There was simply nothing to say to that.

“And you want me to help you?” It didn’t sound nearly as incriminating this time. Cautious, yes, and still a bit skeptical, but open, too. Like he might believe him. 

“I want her back, mate. Safe and sound. Whatever it takes.” 

“Whatever it takes? You understand this sounds completely ridiculous, right? I know vamps. Vamps aren’t typically the type to pull all this righteous bullshit. I—”

“You know vamps,” Spike agreed, his temper rising in spite of himself. “You don’t know _me._ If you did, you’d know I’m not one to follow the rules. Guess you missed that part of your history lesson.” He sighed and nodded at the scrap of paper in the hunter’s hand. “You can keep that card. Look up the white hats if you get around to feeling particularly heroic. In the meantime, dreadfully sorry, but I gotta be off. Need to see about a girl.”

It wouldn’t take a phone call. They both knew it. Spike had only managed five steps before the man called after him.

“Hold up. I’m coming with you.”

A wave of relief crashed hard against Spike’s chest, but he did his best not to let it show. Instead, he turned and watched his new friend fish his crossbow from the dumpster and gather up his stake. The crossbow went over the man’s shoulder, the stake in his back pocket. Then he was moving forward, his steps slow but deliberate.

“You understand that if I get a whiff of a trap, I’ll—”

“Stake me good and proper.” Spike rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t keep from smirking. “Something tells me you’re gonna fit right in. You got a name, mate, or should I just call you—”

“Zack Wright.”

Spike nodded. This felt a lot like progress. “Zack Wright, killer of my kind, I’m William the Bloody. Or Spike. Just Spike, preferably. Begrudgingly reluctant to make your acquaintance.”

Wright smirked a bit at that, and soon they were chuckling together.

If anything else, it was a start.


	15. Let It Rain

When Spike arrived at the Hyperion, he found it had come to life. Lights were on and people were gabbing. It was the complete opposite of what he’d walked in on earlier.  The once-abandoned space now looked like it actually could double as a detective agency.

There was a new person, too—an icy blonde woman lurking near the entry who looked about as sociable as an enraged porcupine. She eyed Spike with the cool meanness of a lawyer about to reveal the smoking gun as he approached, but didn’t say anything or try to prevent him from entering the premises.

Spike found the lobby much as he expected—Cordelia and the others were standing amid the fancy chairs, talking excitedly. The conversation, however, died as soon as Gunn caught sight of Spike.

“Well, look who’s back,” he drawled.

Spike nodded. “Evenin’, all.”

Cordelia whirled around, her eyes blazing. “Don’t ‘evening all’ us!” she snapped, though he could tell she wasn’t genuinely upset. “You have some explaining to do, mister!”

Spike arched a brow. “Can I do it over a mug of pig’s blood? A vamp’s gotta eat, you know.”

Gunn snickered and shook his head. “Man oh man, are you ever in for it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that?” Cordelia had stormed over and was currently treating his arm to several hard slaps, and it didn’t look like she was calming down anytime soon. “I used to have connections! You could’ve made it big!”

“Like that vampire from what’s-her-face’s novel,” Gunn added.

Spike rolled his eyes. “No. I didn’t tell you ‘cause I don’t sing…often. Or voluntarily, unless it’s for something special.”                                           

Without awaiting a response, he turned on his heels to usher in the vampire hunter, who passed the anonymous blonde with a polite, if not uncomfortable smile. It was more than obvious that despite surroundings, he wasn’t entirely at ease with the set up. And that was reasonable. The walk back had been tedious and silent. While there had been some reluctant camaraderie, it was clear he wasn’t going to go out of their way to make nice.

Which was fine by Spike, so long as he recovered the Slayer.

“Anyway, let’s make around the room with the introductions,” Spike said, motioning for Wright to step forward. “Cordy…” He turned to the woman standing at the door and appraised her with another nod, “bint I don’ know, and Charlie—” Gunn offered a throaty cough at that, but he earned little more than a cocky smile in turn. “—meet Zack Wright. Bloke who wants me and all of my kind dead.” He nodded to Wesley, who was staring slightly agape. “Wager you two need no introduction.”                                                                 

The former Watcher finally snapped back to himself and moved forward, breaking into a wide grin. “Well, I’ll be damned. Zachary! How are you?”

At that, Wright’s stern expression softened a little. “Wes. Good to see you.” 

“What on earth brings you all the way to Los Angeles?”                                                    

Wright sighed, looked at Spike, then said, “I was dropped a lead a few weeks ago, about Darla. I had to come.” He stepped closer to Wesley at that, eyes narrowing. “The last I heard, she was eating dust.”

“Yes, well…” Wesley glanced down. “Wolfram and Hart have powerful means of getting what they want. Evidently, she managed to wheedle her way to the top of their list.” He nodded at Spike. “He’s all right. We have an…associate that has a way of seeing into the intentions of others.”

Spike arched an eyebrow. “You had Lorne spill the beans on me?”

“Of course,” he replied. “We had to be sure. After all, we were taking a lot on faith.”

“And here I could’ve sworn that was your sodding motto. You  _are_ the goody good guys, right?”

“Ahem?” Cordelia said from her corner, waving a little. “Hello? You guys mind filling us in because I really think we missed something.” She pointed to the hunter. “Who’s this and how do you know him?”

“I just gave the introduction,” Spike grumbled. “Doesn’t anyone around here pay attention?”

“Zack Wright,” Wesley supplied helpfully. “A vampire hunter I met in San Antonio. This is the man who inspired me to engage in the practice of rogue demon hunting before I joined the Angel Investigations team last year.”

Gunn chortled. “That must’ve been a picture.”

“I’m afraid your arrival couldn’t have come at a better time,” Wesley told Wright. “We have a situation on our hands that—”

“Yeah, Spike told me.” Wright nodded, shrugging his crossbow off his shoulder and setting it on the ground without blinking. “The Order of Aurelius. And something about a…slayer? Whatever that is.”

“Oh, they’re kinda like you,” Cordelia offered, moving forward. “Only female and Chosen. And they have this super-strength thing going for them. And it’s a part of this larger thing… Anyway, Wes used to be in the mix, so he can fill in the blanks.” 

“Excuse me,” came a voice from the doorway.

“Oh, so she talks, too,” Spike said, eying the blonde. “Here I thought she just glared.”

The blonde aimed one of those glares at him. He just smirked. As far as threatening looks went, he’d had much worse.

“Not that I’m not sure this all very important,” the blonde continued, tearing her gaze from Spike, “not to mention interesting, but there are more imperative things right now. Cordelia, I—”

“Right, right,” Cordelia agreed sharply. “Spike, this is Detective Kate Lockley. You’ll like her—she hates Angel. Anyway, she’s here on behalf of Wolfram and Hart.”

“Spike?” Lockley repeated, her voice pitching up a notch. “As in, one of them? More vampires?”

Wright gave her an appreciative look at that.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Oh for crying…twice in one night. Yes, I’m a vampire. There, it’s out. Everyone stop making a big thing outta it. I’m a vampire. A bad, evil, scary, vampire—”

“Not really helping the cause,” Cordelia warned through her teeth.

“And I would reconsider the _scary_ ,” Gunn suggested. 

Wesley stepped forward, his gaze on Lockley. “You know about Spike?”

Kate nodded, glowering. “Yes,” she replied. “After the truth about Angel came out, I spent quite a few days becoming very acquainted with his family tree.” She took a few bold steps toward the vampire, accusing eyes refusing to falter. “I know all about you. William the Bloody, right? For impaling people with railroad spikes?”

Spike’s throat tightened and he took a step back. “Erm, no. That’s where the nickname comes from. _Spike._ William the Bloody is a very dull. Not worth mentioning, really—”

“So, two nasty monikers,” Wright muttered. “Great.”

“The other one’s for butchering something a little less human, mate.” Spike turned back to Lockley. “Not that it matters for rot now. I really don’t give a damn what you think of me, pet. You say you came here on behalf of Wolfram and Hart? Have you heard her? Seen her? Is she—”

“What are you talking about?”

Gunn snickered. “We never got to tell you. Spike here’s a little preoccupied with a heroic rescue mission. Seems your favorite vamp snagged his favorite slayer. Trust me, you’ll have the full story soon. Damn Brit can’t talk about anything but.”

“I haven’t heard anything about a slayer,” Lockley replied. “Only that you mentioned one a minute ago. What is that? Another demon?”

Spike rolled his eyes again. “You did all your vamp homework but never bothered to look up the Slayer? Wow. Nice work, Detective.” He turned to Wesley. “Well, go ahead. This is your territory, right?”

At that, the former Watcher straightened his shoulders. He looked like a schoolboy about to recite a speech he had long ago memorized and grown bored with. “In every generation there is a Chosen One,” he said. “She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.” He shook his head. “God, I never realized how much that sounds like some deranged fraternity chant.”

“You actually have one in custody,” Cordelia said. “Remember Faith? The fugitive that Angel was harboring last year that you pulled a major wig over?” She paused at that. “Oh wait. You do that over everything. Anyway, never mind, she was a slayer.”

Lockley frowned in confusion, gesturing to Wesley. “But he just said there’s just one in every generation,” she replied. “How—”

“Something about how Buffy died for like a second. It called the next slayer, even if she didn’t formally kick it,” Cordelia explained. “It’s a screwy, flawed system. What can I say? Anyway, she and Angel had this torrid love affair that went to hell—”

Spike snickered.

“—so, naturally, as Angelus, she would be one of the first people he’d wanna target. Wolfram and Hart decided to take it a step up in that direction. They had Darla and Drusilla—you’ve read about Dru, right?—snatch her up from Sunnydale. Spike here has, for whatever reason, developed the major Buffy-boner, and—”

“Oi!”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Puhlease, Spike. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Gunn shook his head, smothering a smile. “You’re really not.”

“Hell,” Wright offered, grinning broadly now. “I’ve only known you for an hour and I could tell that right off.”

“Other than the fact that I  _told_ you right off,” Spike retorted. Then he was sulking. “Right. It’s not like the lot of you have to rub it in.”

In an odd moment of unity, the three locked gazes and smirked. “Yes we do,” they decided.

“Regardless,” Kate interrupted, dragging everyone back, “Lindsey didn’t tell me any of this. All he said was that Angel had turned and that I should—”

“Lindsey told you as much as he could without incriminating himself,” Wesley interjected. “I know he’s in trouble for warning us before Angelus could tear us apart. Bringing you in is not going to help him, and Wolfram and Hart does not tolerate negligence on the company line.”

“He’s doing as much as he can without getting himself sacked,” Gunn agreed. “And that’s the literal sort. Sacked and dumped somewhere.”

Spike sighed, caressing his brow. He felt a headache coming on. “So, this bloke didn’t mention Buffy?”

“Is Buffy this slayer person?”

He nodded.

“No,” Kate replied. “Just that…I should come here.”

“Well, that was right considerate of him.”

“How are you hoping to get close to her, anyway?” Cordelia asked. “It’s not like you can walk in there and say, ‘Oh, by the way, you know that blonde that you snatched from Sunnydale? Well, we’d really like her back, if you don’t mind.’ Honestly, have you thought this through at all?”

Spike’s eyes widened. “I’ve done all I can! Came to you sods, let you drag me to some demon pub, bloody  _sang,_ and nearly bit the big one ‘cause I thought it’d be of some sodding use. What was that? A bloody rouse? I’m not used to playing a white hat! This is the best I can do. A little help would be appreciated.” An irritated string of profanity perturbed the air, and he began pacing. “God, this is all so buggered up. If I had just kept my big mouth bloody shut in SunnyD, I could’ve gone with ‘em and gotten her out that way. But oh no. Darla the Fucking Herald has to bloody blab after she’s so bloody sure I’d decline and… God, I wanna rip her innards out.”

A shadow flickered over Wright’s face. “Get in line,” he said quietly.

“Can’t you just contact them and say that you’ve changed your mind?” Cordelia asked.

Spike’s gaze narrowed. “Yeah, ‘cause that won’t look suspicious at all.”

“Well, sorry! I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“Wait,” Wesley said, stepping forward. “Angelus’s pattern is to torture his victims extensively. If Buffy has been in his hands this long, it is safe to consider that she has already…”

He caught Spike’s eyes and abruptly stopped talking, going somewhat pale. A very still, very cold note rang through the room. Spike’s hands formed fists at his sides, his bumpies threatening to emerge. “Finish that sentence,” he growled, “and I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

Wright inched toward his crossbow—not enough to do more than warn, but enough to catch Spike’s attention.

Cordelia was quiet for the moment. When she spoke, her voice was considerably softer than before. Meek and, if possible, frightened. “Gee Spike,” she said with a slight titter. “Cliché much?”

It was silent for another long moment.

“Okay,” Gunn said loudly, rubbing his hands together. “And we’ve established that Spike can still be scary. I stand corrected. Either way, man, chill. It was nothing personal. I think Wes was just trying to make a point.”

“I was,” Wesley agreed. “Admittedly, I have never encountered Angel in his…darker state…I don’t believe that he would have…” He glanced up with obvious hesitation. “I don’t believe he would have killed Buffy yet. With a slayer, I believe he would…”

“Make it as painful as possible,” Lockley voiced from her corner. She earned a glare for her observation but matched it all the same. “And that means as long as possible. Right?”

“Precisely.” Wesley nodded before turning back to Spike. “But you wouldn’t know that. If you approach the Order now with the front that you seek penance for your…transgression without Buffy involved, then—”

“Why would they believe that Spike wouldn’t know this slayer chick is alive?” Wright demanded. “I’d think that a vamp that knows them as well as he does would have figured all this out sooner than two people who’ve read up on it.”

Spike pointed at the vampire hunter appraisingly. “The boy’s gotta point. Theory doesn’t fly, Wes.”

“Because you know Angelus’s mannerisms better than anyone.”

“He’s not gonna be too keen on believing me as it is. Last time I was face-to-face with him—and by him, I mean Angelus in all his evil glory—I tried to knock his head off with a crowbar.”

Cordelia’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Remember that whole Acathla thing? Yeah. Pulled a truce with Buffy then, too.” Spike snorted. “For the ‘good of humankind.’”

“You didn’t have a thing for her then, did you?”

He widened his eyes, appalled. “Of bloody course not!” A pause. “Well, it wasn’t what I feel for her now. More like mutual admiration as well as raging hatred for my mortal enemy, all right? Sure, I woulda…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “Truthfully, I sided with her then to get Dru back. Dru didn’t take kindly to that. And…well, the rest isn’t important.”

Wesley pursed his lips. “My point was this,” he continued. “If you call or contact Angelus, Darla…whomever it is that you would…to see if their offer still stands. Play like you are surprised when the Slayer is mentioned, then—”

“They’ll still find it suspicious, mate,” Spike retorted. “Trust me. No one makes for a sudden change of heart of that bloody magnitude. Not where they’re concerned. And I was much too forthright with my…feelings for the Slayer when Darla popped by, ‘cause I’m a right wanker.”

“How forthright?” Cordelia asked.

“She mentioned Dru was attacking Buffy and I bolted from my crypt to stop it.”

“Wow. You’re dumb.”

“To say the least.” Then he frowned. “Oi!”

Wright ducked his head, and Spike had the horrible thought that the bloody vampire hunter was laughing at him.

“Regardless,” Wesley continued, holding up a hand, “does anyone here have a better idea? If we cannot get Spike to work from the inside, then getting Buffy out and to safety is going to take a measure of cunning that she might not have time to sit around and wait for. Angelus will eventually tire of her.” He looked to Spike. “Won’t he?”

There was nothing to say to that. Spike’s silence spoke for all the things that he could not.

“If Darla refuses to honor what she offered in Sunnydale, then we need to know now,” the former Watcher decided firmly. “Otherwise we are simply wasting time…and that is something that Buffy cannot afford.”

Another quiet beat settled in the lobby. Spike turned away, afraid his eyes would betray the weight of his concern—something that, despite whatever jokes had been made at his expense, had only been explored in tip-of-the-iceberg sense. A fraction of what he experienced in a sea of uncharted feelings.

The wrong decision could cost the Slayer her life.

And he would never recover. Never forgive himself.

Too much was riding on a simple yes or no.

“Spike,” Wesley said softly. “If this fails, we will find another way. I promise. We’re going to put up a fight. We just need to know where we stand.”

And that was that. Spike nodded, realizing for the first time that he truly wasn’t alone. A notion that struck deep. It was unlike any sense belonging that he had ever felt with the Scoobies. The dawn of new reason.

These people were going to help him. Trust him. Because they wanted to.

“Right,” he agreed, closing his eyes as he reached the end of this particular tunnel. One of them. The first of many. “So how do I go about this? Waltz into Wolfram and Hart and schedule an appointment with Angelus between torture sessions?”

“Call Lindsey,” Cordelia offered. “He’s our best bet right now.”

“Great. Leave it in the hands of the lackey.”

“He has a thing for Darla. She trusts him.”

“Even with all the running around behind their backs that he’s done?”

At that, Lockley spoke up. “I don’t think they know about that. From what McDonald told me, the firm is trying to keep the Order as secluded as possible from their outer dealings. They want them at their disposal if and when the time comes…but Darla made it clear that they’re not going to be working for the firm—the firm would be working for them.”

Wright bristled and turned. “Some things never change.”

“I have the number to McDonald’s private line,” Lockley continued, stepping forward and digging out a business card. It was to the dry-cleaners, Spike noted with some amusement, but the extension to Lindsey’s line was scribbled on the back. “He wanted…well, he wanted me to keep in touch. In case things got out of line.”

“What were you gonna do?” Cordelia demanded skeptically. “Throw stones at Angel? Hon, he’s not exactly gonna be a pushover. The only reason you got close to him in the past was because he  _was_ Angel. Angelus is a completely different matter.”

Spike nodded but snatched the proffered card anyway. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Pet, you can read up on us all you bloody well want to. Didn’t do much good for Zangy over here.” He gestured to Wright, who looked both confused and slightly affronted at the nickname. “I’m not the bloke I’m depicted to be throughout history—though some of the stuff they’ve jotted down is right complimentary. I did a lot of bad, but I wasn’t as…” The vampire stopped again when he realized he was the center of several accusing glares and held out his hands again. “All right, I was a mean, nasty bastard. But Angelus? Much as I hate to admit it, you can’t start to even compare. The stuff I’ve read up on him for laughs paints a monster, but not a legend. And that’s what he strove for. The bloody legend. Had to be the best at everything. When it came to being a nasty bugger, he beat out the lot of us.”

“I think the best option is to call Lindsey,” Wesley maintained. “Establish contact. Claim that you have rethought your position and now wish to rejoin your family. If they don’t buy it, at least we know where we stand.”

There was a heavy breath. Spike looked down, his eyes fixed on unmoving spot etched across the marble. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped several degrees. “I’m hesitant to do anything,” he admitted softly. “I’m…what if they just kill her? Because of me?”

Silence flooded the room. 

“It’s a bad situation,” Lockley finally said. The statement in itself was more than obvious, but her observation was somehow soothing.

“They’re not going to wait around for you to make a move,” Wright added. “It’s not like they know you’re in town.”

Cordelia arched a brow. “Actually, they probably do. It’s hard for a pin to drop in this city without Wolfram and Hart being all over it.”

“But that doesn’t mean they’re relaying the information to Angelus and Darla,” Wesley continued. “Chances are, if Lindsey is in charge—”

“I don’t know that he’s in charge,” Lockley interrupted. “He’s just the one who contacted me.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t believe he would have gone out of his way unless he thought that things were slipping from the firm’s control. Wolfram and Hart might be a powerful, deadly force, but the Order of Aurelius has older blood working at its side. Darla is four hundred, and her sire was the oldest in recorded history.” The former Watcher stroked his jaw in thought, breaking into a segmented and more sedated pace that mimicked Spike’s in stride if not in speed. “Lindsey’s warning to us came out of civility. It wasn’t because he thought that the situation had exceeded their control. His move to use you, Detective, as a bargaining tool, confirms this. He doesn’t want to be directly implicated. If his pattern has shown anything, it’s that he is deliberately taking baby steps, attempting to keep Angelus from the loop of what is going on in the corporate office.” He stopped and glanced up. “And in doing so, I believe they will try to keep Buffy alive as long as possible.”

Wright frowned. “Why?”

“To keep them occupied,” Gunn concluded.

Spike shook his head, unconvinced. “I still don’t see how that’s gonna amount to rot. If Angelus finds something he wants done, he does it. Sod the wankers in charge and all that. And yeah, she’ll keep him busy for a while. Doing things…to her…” He stopped once more and his eyes went dark. It didn’t take as long as he expected to regain control. Rather, he drew in a deep breath and nodded after a few seconds. “Right. Right. It’s better to know now where we stand. If they touch her, I’ll—”

Everyone immediately tensed again at the sign of an impending tangent. Gunn seized the initiative, stepping forward sharply and placing a neutral hand on the vampire’s shoulder. “Save it for the baddies, man. I think I speak for everyone when I say, we know what you’re going to do them isn’t pretty.”

“Yeesh,” Cordelia agreed, nodding. “I can only imagine. Have I told you recently that you’ve got it to a degree of bad that I thought couldn’t be achieved before?”

Spike snickered but didn’t reply, turning instead to Lockley. “Right then,” he said. “Looks like I got me a phone call to make.”


	16. Ashes

It took some convincing, but Wright eventually allowed his cell phone to be volunteered for the call.

“I don’t want Darla knowing I’m anywhere near LA,” he’d said.

“I’ll make a point not to mention you, then,” Spike had replied, his hand outstretched. “I don’t have a mobile and this lot here’s on Wolfram and Hart’s shit list. You know they’re gonna know if the call comes from them.”

“It’s for Buffy,” Wesley had said. “Getting Buffy out alive is more important than your revenge, Zack. You know this.”

For a moment, Spike had thought Zangy might take a swing at the former Watcher. In the end, though, he’d sighed and handed the phone over without further protest.

Now Spike was staring at the mobile, his mind at a loss.

“Remember,” Wesley said cautiously, “he might have been instructed to lead you on in a certain way. Don’t take anything to heart. We’ll have Detective Lockley phone him immediately following—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Spike said, hoping his tone masked how anxious he was. With as much as he wanted to have this over with, there was a certain measure of safety in the not knowing. As long as he remained ignorant, Buffy could still be rescued. She was still waiting for him. Still there, if only a trip across town from reach.

If he received word that the worst had already happened… He couldn’t imagine it. A world without the Slayer. Without her.

Right now, she was Schrödinger’s Slayer.

Funny. With as often as he had tried to kill her in the past, he had never thought through to conclusion. He would have mourned even then at the passing of such a formidable foe. There had been slayers in the past and, however he wished to deny it, there would be slayers in the future. But there was only one Buffy. Only one worthy of the title _mortal enemy_. The others had not the chance to come halfway as close as she had to delving beyond the walls he’d put up, even without realizing it. Those established when he’d died. When he’d discovered the trophy of slayer blood. When Drusilla had left him.

Buffy Summers had broken through all of them. She had, in essence, made him human all over again. A terrifying realization. One he resented with every fiber of his being. He hated her for it. He worshiped her for it. He had wished her dead more times than he could count, but he loved her too much to think about what would happen to him in a world without her. His love for her was the most frightening thing that had ever happened to him—he knew it had the power to consume him, break him, destroy him. He had already crossed more boundaries than he’d thought possible. And there were others ahead.

He wouldn’t stop until she was back. Until he had her home.

Spike would have sworn his heart started beating again as the phone rang. While he had not requested it, he almost wished the others had left him in peace for this, but Wesley had pointed out that at least one person needed to be present in case Spike looked like he might lose control. That much made sense, but the whole bloody peanut gallery seemed like overkill. 

The phone was answered on the fifth ring. “McDonald.”

And just like that, Spike’s reservations dissolved. He was pacing, but more to keep moving than out of anxiety. “This wouldn’t be the McDonald that belongs to the Darla fan club, would it?”

There was a pause. He could almost smell the air heating with awareness.

Then the man cleared his throat and dropped something that sounded like a pen. “William the Bloody, I presume?”

“It’s Spike, mate. Just Spike. I know I’m a little late to the party, but you see, I have this problem. Last year, a group of government—”

“Yes, the chip. We have the information on you. More than you likely realize.” There was a heavy pause. “Darla, however, told us that you declined her offer and all the benefits that came with it. If you’ve changed your mind, I’m sorry. Wolfram and Hart’s special contracts are often of the one-time-only variety.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, and he felt his patience begin to ebb. “This contract isn’t with Wolfram and Bloody Hart, you enormous ponce. It’s with—”

There was a loud cough. Cordelia was glaring at him.

“Yeah, all right, fine. You got me. I changed my mind.”

“The contract the standing members of the Order established is connected to the Senior Partners, so yes, this is Wolfram and Hart business.” Another pause. “Either way, I was told you might be in contact. Something about your family being in possession of something you want. The message I am to give you is as follows…” McDonald cleared his throat again. “‘Tell my dearest that Angelus has already given me my treat, and that mummy fixed all that was wrong. It’s over now. We made a banquet of her heart.’ It was done shortly after they arrived, I believe. Truthfully, Mister—oh I’m sorry— _Spike,_ we haven’t had much contact with them for the past few days. But I was instructed to tell you that if it’s the Slayer you seek, it’s too late. She has already been taken care of.”

In all honesty, Spike wasn’t sure how he kept his legs from collapsing. How his brain continued to function. How his motor skills didn’t abandon him. Instead, he forced himself to rely on the script Wesley had given him, along with the inner mantra that told him this was a rouse. That McDonald was acting under orders. That he had been told to say this if Spike called. That Buffy was dead. But he found no comfort in empty promises. From here, from where he stood, all was lost. He couldn’t see her. Couldn’t feel or taste her.

If it were true, if she was dead, blood would run in the streets. There would be anger, then vengeance, then maybe he’d have time to scream his grief.

That was not now.

“Well, then it’s a bloody good thing I’m not calling about the sodding Slayer, isn’t it?” he heard himself shout. As though watching himself at a distance. “Tell that wanker Angelus that I have a piece to speak with him and to be at Caritas tomorrow. Sunset. You got me?”

“I will relay the message,” Lindsey replied, sounding anything but intimidated. “My apologies for the misunderstanding. I’m sure he will be most interested to hear what you have to say.”

“You’re bloody right he will be,” Spike snarled, then lowered the phone and disconnected the call.

Then he dropped the phone altogether because he suddenly couldn’t feel his hands.

Spike kept his gaze on the ground. He was not going to break down in front of these wankers. He was not going to let them know how the very thought of her death affected him. How he felt like dying a thousand times over. Like going for a morning stroll so he didn’t have to feel this anymore.

The first voice that disturbed the air was Cordelia’s. “Spike…” she said softly. “Maybe you should…sit down or something. You’re…well, you’re pale. Well,  _obviously_ you’re pale. You’re dead. But you’re even…paler than usual. And I think it’d be a good idea if—”

He held up a hand. “There are rooms upstairs? Empty ones?”

She nodded. “Totally. I mean, it’s a hotel, right? And there’s only Angel here…mostly…but he’s gone, so you can take his—”

He was not going to Angel’s room. 

And, to her credit, Cordelia seemed to catch on to that immediately. “Or there’s another room. There are…well, hundreds…literally. I think there’s one with an old bed…I haven’t gone up there all that much, but Angel had some telekinetic chick staying with him a while back. Try room 308. Okay?”

Spike nodded and moved for the staircase wordlessly.

He needed to be away from them before he broke down.

*~*~*

Cordelia kept her gaze on Spike until he was out of sight. A few seconds passed, then the definitive click of a door locking sounded through the air.

“Gotta love old buildings,” Wright said. “Sound really carries.”

“He gonna be all right?” Gunn asked, following Cordelia’s gaze.

“As long as she is,” Wesley replied. He had remained quiet throughout the exchange, watching Spike the way he sometimes watched Angel when Angel wasn’t looking. Only Cordelia figured Wes’s fascination with Spike was a different kind altogether—she sure as hell knew hers was.

This was not the Brit who had tried to kill Angel last year, or Buffy any of the years before it. Yet it was, and that wigged her out.

At once, Wesley turned to Kate and with a short, sharp nod. “You better phone Lindsey,” he said. “Tell him everything you can, save, of course, that Spike is here with us. Find out what happened to Buffy.”

She blinked. “Why would I care what happened to Buffy?” she replied.

“’Cause you’re a cop?” Gunn offered. “And she’s—”

“What I mean is, I’m not even supposed to know she’s there,” Kate said, aiming a glare at Gunn. “As far as Lindsey knows, I have no idea that this Buffy person exists at all. Why would I call and ask about her?”

Wesley nodded. “Tell him that a man named Rupert Giles rang the Hyperion and told us everything.”

“Why would McDonald disclose any of that information to me? He’d only be digging himself in deeper.”

Gunn stared at her blankly. “Never thought I’d see the day when you’d be hesitant to uphold the law.”

“I’m not here as an officer. I’m here—”

“So? Big whup. That doesn’t mean that you aren’t one.”

Wesley sighed. “You’re here. Period. That is all that matters. You’re here because he called you. Right now,  _Detective,_ that makes you one of us. That makes you the enemy. He chose to speak through you once.” There was another heavy pause. “In any case, the girl is an innocent. She’s being tortured and worse by the very vampire you despise. Not Angel. Not the nice version. She’s in the hands of the creature that deserves your hatred. We need to know what happened to her.” He looked to the empty corridor where Spike had vanished. “Spike deserves to know. He’s come this far.”

“Did you see the look on his face?” Cordelia demanded. “He’s completely in love with her!”

“So it would seem,” Wright muttered. “I tell you, Wes. I’ve seen vamps in love before. Never like this, and never with a human. It’s…well, I don’t like it. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Spike’s always been weird,” Cordelia replied. “And he had a total slayer fixation, too. I dunno. As wigged as I was when he first showed up here, him being all gaga for Buffy kinda makes sense to me.” She paused. “God, Buffy. She seems to be a vamp magnet.”

“Well, she is the Slayer,” Wesley replied.

“I’m just saying… Angel and now Spike?” Cordelia made a face. “If I weren’t worried I’ll never see her again, I might kinda hate the bitch.”

Wright stared at her. “You have a thing for Spike?”

“Ugh, please, no!” She shuddered at the thought. “I could never date anyone with that fashion sense. It’s more that Buffy just seems to line ‘em up. The most action I get is from Dennis.”

“Her ghost roommate,” Gunn stage-whispered.

Wright shook his head as though trying to clear it. “You’re involved with a ghost?”

“Uh, no.” She turned to Wes. “Does he not understand the art of hyperbole?”

Wesley didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to be following. His gaze was still locked on the floor above. “Spike is not like Angel. He might be in love with Buffy, but he doesn’t have a soul. We _must_ find out what truly happened. The last thing we need is an enraged, heartbroken vampire on our hands.”

“He can’t hurt us, though,” Gunn observed. “We’ve all seen it.”

“I haven’t,” Kate said, reaching for her phone all the same.

“Well, take my word for it.”

“Odd as it may sound, I’m not worried about us,” Wesley said.

He would not elaborate.

*~*~*

Spike sat on the edge of a barren mattress, staring at the blank wall as though he expected it to speak.

Somewhere deep within himself, he had already made peace with the understanding that whatever Lindsey told him was a lie. There was no way Angelus would be done with the Slayer already. He’d barely had her a day.

But hearing it from someone who was there, who had the potential to be there for her—see her, touch her, feel her every day—it was enough to make the false truth ring real.

But the actual truth was more terrifying than that. Because the day would ultimately come when it would _not_ be a lie. When she’d snuff it, being the mortal being she was. When some creature like him came around and put her in the ground. If not today, then someday, and Spike knew he wouldn’t ever be ready for her death. Whether she lived one year or a thousand.

His face was wet and his eyes were raw. _Bloody wanker._  

“She’s alive.”

The voice came from the door.

Spike sighed and wiped his face free of tears. “I know.”

Evidently, that was all the invitation Wright felt he needed. He stepped into the room and moved quietly toward the mattress.

Spike made no further move to acknowledge him, though as all good prey, he knew to keep alert. The man was one who killed his kind for sport, and even with their unlikely truce, he’d known enough humans not to trust that he wouldn’t be attacked anyway.

Once more, he was surprised.

“‘I know’?” Wright asked. The mattress dipped with his weight as he situated himself next to Spike, perhaps a good foot between them. “I half expected you to get up and dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Yeah, and you don’t sing. It seems you’ve made all kinds of exceptions tonight.”

There was an appreciative snicker. “I’ve been making exceptions for the past year.”

Wright nodded. “I’d say falling in love with your mortal enemy checks as a big one.”

“So you’re gonna admit that that’s what it is, then?”

“What?”

“Figured a big vamp-hating demon hunter like you’d be one of the first to say that vampires can’t feel anything at all.” Spike turned to look at him. “That love where we’re concerned is possible.”

He shrugged. “I was skeptical at first.”

“I’ve known you for two hours. You’ve had enough time to change your mind?”

“You’ve given me enough to change it on.” Wright sighed heavily and turned to mimic the vampire’s pose. “I don’t think in all the years that I’ve been hunting demons that I’ve ever seen one react to bad news the way you did downstairs.”

“I don’t reckon you’ve met many demons with implants in their noggins.”

“It’s more than that.”

But he did not explain how.

There was a brief, oddly comfortable silence. As comfortable as it could get, at least, between two blokes sworn to do the other in. In any other context, Spike would have second-guessed himself and his motives; it was hardly as though this was the first time he had sided with the enemy.

The voice that was becoming not-so-little whispered that he could hardly call himself the enemy anymore. He was the only vampire in the vicinity, unsouled and very blood-happy…yet in a hotel managed by people who went out of their way to do good, preparing to battle his own kind to save the Slayer. Selflessly. Without motive or cause. While Spike had entertained fantasies involving Buffy, a tall tower, and a stylishly wankerish version of himself saving her heroically without help, he knew it could never be so. Because she was far above him. She was the light that could never be touched, lest he crumble to dust.

Spike took a deep breath. Comfortable or not, he hated silences. “So…” he began, cautious but conversational. Despite whatever their understanding, he would never allow himself to forget that this was the same bloke that had greeted him with many a-crossbow arrows. “What’s the story?”

Wright spared him a glance but complied. “Kate called that Lindsey person.”

“Wanker.”

“In a nutshell, he told her that the Slayer was alive. Not fine, but alive.” There was a sigh. “Neither mentioned you. She told him that someone named Giles had contacted Wes because Buffy was missing, and they thought Angelus might have something to do with it. Lindsey said she’s at Wolfram and Hart.”

Spike nodded. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“But that wasn’t the story I was asking about.” Spike arched his eyebrows when the other man frowned. “Oh, come on, Zangy. How do you expect us to become the very best of friends if you don’t share a tale or two?”

Wright blinked. Once. Twice. “The very best of what?”

Spike snickered and waved a hand. 

But Wright wasn’t willing to dismiss his words as easily. Instead, a dark scowl fell across his face and any uneasy friendliness that had been there before dissipated. “Let’s get one thing very straight,” he snapped. “We’re never going to be friends. Ever. I’m here to kill a bitch who should already be dead. I’m not here to _help_ you, and I fucking pity this Slayer—whoever she is—if you’re what she has waiting for her. Jesus Christ…”

There were times when Spike reckoned he was older fashioned than he cared to admit. While his temper was hardly difficult to trigger, it took more a casual insult to get him boiling. Sure, say a word against him, and he’d get irritated. But go after someone he loved and his fury had no bounds.

But he couldn’t do anything beyond anger. He couldn’t resort to the violence he craved. All he could do was watch from the sidelines. 

“Look,  _mate,”_ he growled. “You’re the one who came up here to chat. Leave the bird—”

“I came up here to tell you that your girlfriend is all right.”

“She’s not my…” He couldn’t finish that because he didn’t want it to be true, so he didn’t bother. Instead, he shook his head and changed tactics. “Why even bother if it’s such a bloody inconvenience? You hate me, remember? Say what you want—do whatever you sodding please—but leave her outta this. She’s done nothing but save the world and hate all the same things you do. She’s a bloody hero, is what she is. And I’m just trying to get her back before they rip her to shreds. Am I a vampire? Well, yeah, last I checked. Am I evil? Bloody right. I’m not trying to score points here, you git. I just want to get her home.”

At that, Zack was quieted. There was nothing for several beats.

Then Spike exhaled a long sigh and reached for his cigarettes.

“Come on,” he urged. “If you’re gonna be up here enjoying the dark with a beastie, you might as well tell a tale or two. I know it was Darla. Wasn’t difficult to piece that together. What’d she do?”

Another lengthy silence—the same that spoke for everything that Wright refused to say himself. Whatever had happened had been one of those defining moments. Darla was good at creating those. More than just taking someone before their time—Darla had fundamentally molded this man into someone else entirely. While she carved apart many a happy family, there were only a few souls in this world who were changed beyond recognition after crossing paths with her.

Spike had the nagging feeling that she had done more than simply kill someone that Zachary Wright had cared for. And in that regard, despite their mutual aversion, he could understand. Even relate.

Relate.

With humans.

The heart of his final corruption. He was within a breath of being one of them.

“Was it your honey?” Spike asked as he lit his fag.

A sigh at that. One of concession. He knew well that sound.

“It happened…” Wright began softly, his voice hoarse. “It happened so long ago. I don’t even… Most people, they remember every last detail of what happened to them. I can’t tell you how many men I’ve talked to who lost wives or children. Sisters, brothers…that sort of thing. I guess you could call me a profiteer, but I don’t like to think about it like that. I’ve never been in this for the pay. Not once. I’ve done too many freebies and the like… No. To me, it’s all about the leads. It’s always been the kill.”

Spike gave him a very long look. “Good to know.”

“The people, though, the others…they remember every detail.” Wright exhaled and shook his head. “I don’t. Seven years have passed and I’ve spent every day trying to forget. Trying to get… I’ve heard too many stories. Eventually, the details start to mesh. But never with me. I always knew what story was mine. Forty-seven states and god knows how many kills, and it’s still there. It won’t ever go away.”

“Forty-seven, eh?”

“I go anywhere. Everywhere. Still, I remember when I first saw her. I was at a bar after work. I didn’t want to go home. My wife and I had had a fight that morning. I was worried about money and she… Well, she was worried about things that actually mattered. Darla was there. She came up to me. Flirted with me. I enjoyed it, ‘cause god knows it’d been a long time since…” He broke, his face hardening. “I should’ve killed her on the spot, but I didn’t know then. What I know now.” Another lengthy break. “She made a pass at me that I let go farther than it should. I was tipsy, but not so tipsy that I forgot I was a married man very much in love with his wife. I told her to fuck off and went home.” Wright’s jaw hardened. “But that was just the beginning. After I read up on her, I figured that she was looking for a replacement-Angelus. Guess I was the best candidate.”

Spike snickered at that. “She wanted you to fill in King Forehead’s space? Bloody hell. Either she’s raised her standards or stopped caring.”

“There was a problem, of course. A complication.”

Spike nodded and exhaled a pillar of smoke. “That’d be the missus.”

It was amazing, watching the seasons of human emotion change. From cold to warm in two seconds flat. The soft glow that warmed the ice behind Wright’s eyes. Spike wondered briefly if he looked like that whenever Buffy was mentioned, and sincerely hoped not. If his eyes revealed half as much, it was a wonder the entire Scooby clan hadn’t made his chest a bloody pincushion.

“Amber,” Wright replied, his voice thick. “We got married when we were freshmen in college. Very young and stupid. We thought it was all so romantic. It felt right and that was all that mattered. I had loved her since the moment I saw her. I went through…everything just to earn a look from her. A smile. A laugh. She had the most amazing laugh. And her eyes…” He broke then, as though realizing he had been rambling. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow. “’Cause I’m listening?”

“I don’t see why you care.”

“I don’t, to be truthful. Just the same as I reckon you don’t really care either way if I get Buffy back safe and sound. But you’re here, aren’t you? Might as well take you up on it.” He paused and pursed his lips. “And I asked. You’re an odd fellow, Zangy. Bit more like myself than I wager you’d wanna admit.”

At that, Wright instantly drew into himself, his eyes going stony. “I’m  _nothing_ like you.”

Spike snickered again. “Right. ‘Course. You’re too good for it.”

“I sure as hell am.”

“That’s why you went outta your way to come up here and make sure I knew the Slayer was all right, even though you don’t bloody care.” He rumbled a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re a piece of work. You know that, right?”

“Whoever Buffy is, she doesn’t deserve this. So yeah, I care.”

“Right. But that doesn’t mean you had to come share the good news with me. If you hate my kind so much, why not just let me stew in my misery?” He tilted his fag toward Zangy. “Gonna guess it’s because you know what this is like and you were feeling sorry for the big bad vamp.”

“I—”

“You have a wicked grudge. I get that. The story probably goes that Darla reasoned you were out of the running as her next-best mate when she discovered you already had a honey warming your bed. She decides to narrow out the competition.” Spike sighed and tapped cigarette ash onto the floor before wedging the fag back between his lips. “You’d think four bloody centuries’d be enough to inspire a little originality.”

If possible, the air surrounding Wright chilled even further. And he was silent.

As if this confirmed everything, Spike nodded. Then he grew somber. There were many things he knew about Darla, but none struck quite as true as her love of bloodshed. It didn’t matter at whose expense—she was a vampire, after all, and didn’t care a lick for who she was hurt. Never had. If rejection had sent her on a warpath against Wright’s wife, there were several things he already knew. It had been bloody, prolonged, and about as painful as three consecutive Pauly Shore movies.

Like what she was doing to Buffy. Somewhere out there. Right now.

Without realizing it, Spike fisted his hands and tightened his jaw.

And he felt a sudden rush of empathy for the demon hunter. Something he definitely did not need.

“You ruined lives just like mine,” Wright said at last, breaking the silence.

“I have.”

“And you don’t care.”

“I am what I am, mate. I was made this way.”

Wright inhaled deeply. “I oughta rip you to pieces,” he decided. “Simply for being here when others aren’t. For being…for ruining what you’ve ruined. For—”

Spike huffed, knowing that he wasn’t in any real danger. If the hunter wanted to kill him, he’d had more than enough chances. “Vamps kill, Zangy. It’s what we do. What we’re made to do, and we’ve been here and doing it a lot longer than you humanly types have been wandering the horizon in search of  _truth_ and  _meaning_ and all that other bloody rot.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop calling me that.”

A broad grin crossed Spike’s lips. “Well, now you’ve gone and done it. If it annoys you, it sticks. One of my many charms.” When all he earned was an irritated glance in turn, he sighed and looked down once more. “Would it make you feel any better if I told you I’m losing it?”

“Losing what?”

“Whatever made me the way I am,” Spike grumbled and snubbed out his cigarette against the floor. “I’m not proud of it. Hell, I bloody well hate what this fucking chip has done to me. Made me more like you. Made me feel.” A pause at that. “Can’t blame everything on it, though. Even if I’d never realized it, I’ve had a yen for the Slayer for longer than I’d like to admit. And it’s bloody ruined me.”

“Oh yes,” Wright snapped. “That  _must’ve_ been terrible.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Just about as terrible as it’d be for you to fall head over for one of us. Your enemy. I’m a vampire. She’s a slayer. She’s everything I’m supposed to be against. It’s sick and wrong, and if I could rid myself of these feelings, I’d gladly do it. But I can’t.” He paused and shook his head, waving dismissively. “Never mind. Understanding’s not in your sodding vocab, is it? What I am…what she’s made me… It’s something perverse. But she’s…” His eyes softened. “She’s Buffy.”

The air that settled between them didn’t feel as thick as it had a moment earlier. As though some peace could be discovered through all the animosity. It was frightening, the way the smallest thing could alter one’s entire universe. 

Wright drew in a deep breath and raked his fingers through his hair. “You really love her?”

“With everything that I am. She’s a bloody disease. A disease and its cure. She poisons me and brings me back all with one breath. All in one glorious package.” 

Another beat. Then Wright spoke.

“Amber was different than anyone I’d ever met,” he stated softly, eyes glossing over. “She was… God, I don’t even know where to begin. Intelligent, beautiful, funny…she probably had more boyfriends in high school than I had zits.”

Spike cracked a smile but didn’t comment.

“She was an over-achiever. One of those rare people who make it to the top without becoming so full of themselves that they turn into only a shadow of the person they were. I was…I guess I was as enchanted with her as everyone else. It shocked the hell out of me when she finally agreed to give me a chance. I never got over that, I don’t think. Never got over her. And when she said she’d marry me…”

He broke then the unspoken offer for commentary. Spike made none. Just sat in silence and waited for the man to continue.

Wright swallowed thickly. “We were poor but happy. My job was…well, it was for shit, to be blunt. Money was tight and Amber was up to her eyeballs in student debt, and then we got news…and it got worse. For nearly a year, everything was just…tense. That morning I was stressed about work and money and I took it out on Amber. Then I went to work angry and avoided going home. And then Darla happened. I had no idea who she was. I had no idea that vampires existed, and certainly didn’t think they’d live around me were that the case. Darla…she was…I don’t have a word for it.” He paused. “It felt good, that’s the sick thing. To be wanted like that. I knew she wanted me, and it felt good. It felt… But I loved Amber. With everything I was. I thought Darla was a cute girl with a crush and I told her to fuck off. Then I got worried when she kept turning up. I told Amber about Darla—about the night at the bar. I thought that was the worst I could ever feel, Amber thinking I wanted anyone else. I thought _that_ was the worst. And then the next day happened.”

Then Wright’s voice cracked. “Of everything I’ve forgotten, there are two things that I can’t make go away. The smell. I’d gotten a whiff of blood before but never like that. So thick. So… _everywhere._ It was everywhere. Practically running down the walls. And she…she was… Oh god…” Wright drew an arm across his eyes as his body trembled. “She was…hanging. She had—she had been nailed… That monstrous bitch had nailed her to the wall. To look like Jesus, I guess. Just there…waiting for me. Her arms…she…and her stomach. Her sweet stomach…she…” He held up a hand, shielding his face and shaking his head. “Darla had taken a…I don’t even know what she used…but she had carved my Amber’s stomach open to kill my child. Amber was pregnant and the closer we got to the due date, the more I freaked about money because we were already so far in the hole I could barely see anything, but he was _my son._ My son. Darla put him in the bassinette and suffocated him.”

Spike was stunned. There was no other word for it. Of everything he had ever heard, of everything he knew of Darla, he had never known her to do anything like this. She killed, yes, but she didn’t stage. She didn’t leave presents.

Point of fact…

“Angelus,” he murmured. “It was Angelus.”

“No, it most definitely was  _not_ Angelus,” Wright snapped, wiping his eyes irately. “She had transcribed ‘with love’ on the wall next to my…my son. In blood. It wasn’t—”

“That’s not what I meant. She was recreating something Angelus did back in the day.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t around for it—bit before my time—but I remember them laughing about it. Reminiscing and the like. Guess after a bloody century of being without her boy, she began to lose it. When was this?”

Wright closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Like I said, seven years ago.”

“Be right before she came to SunnyD, then.”

“Where she was supposed to have been killed.”

“She was.” Spike’s brows flickered. “Just not permanently. Angel staked her to save the Slayer, way I hear it. And  _god,_ does that prat ever go on? Aside from him shagging Dru, I don’t think I heard more garbage than his woes about slaying his sire.” He caught himself before he could get too carried away, cleared his throat, and returned to the present. “So I’m guessing after, you became a lean, mean, demon-hunting machine?”

“It wasn’t just demons,” Wright said. “It was vampires. I wanted Darla dead. I wanted all vampires dead. There were a thousand leads to follow…most of them stayed within the family. I contacted an old friend from high school who came from a military household. He taught me things I’d… He taught me things that I’d never have even dreamt of knowing. I practiced. I killed. I’ve killed so many vampires I’ve lost count, but it was never enough. It was never her. I read so many books that my eyes started to bleed. Memorized every single detail about her. Her past. Her associates. Those she’d sired. Those most noted in her Order. Angelus. Drusilla. You. Some random vampire named Penn, who I lost track of—”

“One of Angel’s,” Spike said. “Think he kicked it.”

“And then word came that she was dead. She was dead, I hadn’t killed her, but that was enough. It was more than enough for me. But by that time, I was too far into what I was doing to stop. It had only been months and I had lost myself. Never staying in the same place. Always following some lead. Then I met Wes. Nice enough guy, but didn’t understand the meaning of the word _rogue_.” A shadow of a grin. “He told me who he was and that he was more acquainted with otherworldly phenomena than he cared to disclose. I helped him a bit, I guess. He came on a couple kills with me before he proved to be a liability.” He turned to Spike with a sigh. “Then Darla was alive again. Back. That was… When I heard, I was out the door. I had to get to where she was. Had to kill her. It was… God, it was as though…”

Spike nodded. “I get it, mate.”

Wright snickered, eyes wide. “Do you? Do you really? How could you? You’re just like them, right? A fucking vampire who’d just as soon—”

“Look, as much as it might pain me to admit, I was never in that the same league as Darla and Angelus. All right? If you’ve read up on me, you’d know it.” Spike chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. “I get why you’re here. What she did…I guess I’ll never understand it completely. I can’t. I don’ have the wiring for it. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to her.” He scoffed. “Never did care for the old bat, anyway.”

Wright smiled without feeling. “You talk like she’s your racist grandma or something.”

“From where I’m sitting, she is.” Spike rose to his feet at that and made for the door. He paused before he could leave the room completely, turned back to the man who would never be his friend, but could be his ally. “I’m not making light,” he said seriously. “Not a one of ‘em. I loved Dru. Loved her for a long time. But that won’t stop me from killing her if she stands between me and the Slayer. It’ll hurt like hell, but if that’s what it takes, I’m up to it. What’s worse, she knows it. The lot of ‘em do. Guess that’s why you’re here, then, mate. The bloody Powers needed someone who had a cause worth dying for.”

“I have a cause,” Wright said without turning, voice soft. “Guess you do, too.”

“Bloody right, I do.”

There was a moment’s pause. Wright’s head dropped. “Your girl, she’s worth this? To you?”

The question was getting redundant, but Spike figured the reassurance was needed amongst enemies. He knew he would be doing the same if the tables were turned. “She’s worth everything. And not just to me. She’s not for me. She’s for the world.” He stopped and cocked his head. “Wasn’t yours?”

A long, unwavering beat at that. “Then,” Wright said quietly, “we’ll get her back.”

Spike smiled. Perhaps he had been wrong. After all, as was becoming the motto for this town, stranger things had happened. “You know what, Zangy?” he asked. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful—”

“Shut up.”

Or maybe not. Better not to push it.


	17. With a Little Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all --
> 
> I have up to Chapter 25 edited now, and need to take a small break from the edits to complete my Seasonal Spuffy fic. If updates on this slow, that's why. I am still committed to finishing the comprehensive edit/rewrite on this story (and my backlist). I just need to take a moment to write something new!

“Remind me again what we’re doing here.”

“I told you, Mr. Antsy-Pants,” Cordelia answered, propping her bag onto her shoulder, “there are a few things I’d like to pick up—and not that I’m all Angel-wiggy—but I figured it might be a little safer if I had someone to come with.”

Spike snickered and rolled his eyes. “What happened to me not being invited in?”

She tossed him a grin over her shoulder. “Well, since you’re so effectively neutered, it shouldn’t matter. Besides, as I said before, Dennis would  _so_ kick your ass.” 

The door swung open at that without, and Spike immediately found himself thrown to the far other side of the veranda. The few drops of sunlight that had yet to dispel into the shadows trickled to vulnerable skin, and he yelped loudly.

“Now that,” Wright said as he approached, “was funny.”

Spike scowled and fought to his feet. “Ghostly types. Always gotta have a bloody sense of humor.”

Cordelia shrugged and held the door open for him. “Well, they gotta pass the time somehow.” She gestured inward theatrically. “William the Bloody, I hereby pardon every bad thing you’ve ever done and cordially invite you into my home. Consider yourself officially one of the gang.”

Spike smirked at her and hurried inward. “Ha bloody ha, love.” He ran a hand through his hair and was grinning when she finally shut the door behind them. “The day that you’re picked to reign judgment on all us poor demons is—”

“Hey, I don’t see why you’re complaining. You’re currently my favorite vamp. Wanna keep it up?”

Wright rolled his eyes. “Because the selection is so wide. I guess if you wanted to go that way, he’d have to be  _my_ favorite vamp, too.”

Spike knew better than to push it, but couldn’t help himself. “Aw, shucks, Zangy,” he drawled. “I didn’t know you cared.” 

“I don’t. That being the point, in case you missed it.”

“And here I thought you boys were getting along,” Cordelia said, tossing her bag to the nearest chair. Then she lifted her head and called to no one in particular, “Phantom Dennis, meet Spike and Zack. Spike’s a vamp and Zack wants to kill him.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Wright said, holding up a hand. “I only want to kill him after I get to the others. Right now, I’m just using him for his connections.”

Spike snickered. “Of course. Right martyr you are.”

“I do try.”

“Could you two save it for when I’m not around? Honestly.” Cordelia moved toward her bedroom, glancing upward as though to catch the eye of her invisible roommate. “They did this  _all_ the way over here. It’s giving me a headache.”

“Well now,” Spike drawled, “couldn’t have that, could we?”

“Hey, a healthy seer is a happy seer. Who knows? It might make my mind-numbingly painful visions all the more jolly.”

Wright smirked. “Yes. I’m sure that’s the way it works.”

“Better watch it, mate,” the vampire advised, though there was mischief in his eyes. “She was the Queen C. Near as I can recall, anyway.” He turned to survey the apartment properly, narrowing his gaze at her very feminine surroundings. There was absolutely no doubt that a lady lived here. Even the greatest poof this side of the Atlantic wouldn’t choose these themes if they had any self-respect. Nevertheless, it was cozy. Very serene. Homey.

One would never guess that its resident worked for a vampire.

“So,” Cordelia said, emerging once more from her room with a small suitcase at her disposal. She wisely ignored the blank stares her random, not to mention rapid brandishing of a home-away-from-home survival kit. “What’s the game plan? Spike’s heading over to Caritas here in about a half—”

“Spike and  _Zack_ are heading to this…whatever,” Wright said. When he received a skeptical look in turn, he spread his arms, eyes widening with incredulity. “What? Darla might show. You honestly think I’m gonna bypass a shot to—”

“Cordy, dear, do me a favor and keep Zangy nice and distracted for about three hours.” Spike tossed an icy glare to his unlikely companion.

“That’s not happening,” Wright said softly. “If there’s a chance Darla’s going to be there, I’m there, too. Deal with it.”

Spike arched an eyebrow and stepped into the hunter’s personal space. “Whatever else happens tonight, I’m not gonna let you sit by and bugger up my chances to get Buffy back safe and sound. Something tells me that you staking Darla might give the game away.” 

“He wouldn’t have to know it’s me.”

“The answer’s no, Zangy.”

Wright paused and glared. “One, stop calling me that. Two, how the hell do you propose to stop me?”

There were a thousand and a half ways of answering that. Chip or no chip, Spike was not without his resources. Still, he decided it was best to hold his tongue. The past day had taught him that Wright wasn’t unreasonable, and his prejudice against vamp-kind wasn’t unmovable. While the hunter would never admit it, he had softened a bit. Was scowling less, talking more—overall, becoming more social. They hadn’t argued much, either; though their comments were barbed, it was more casual.

Up until this point.

“Look, mate,” Spike said, “I’m on your bloody side here. When—”

Wright scoffed at that, shaking his head. “On my side? You’re just using me.”

Cordelia waved a hand. “Ummm…did I miss something, Mr. Hypocritical? You  _are_ just using him too, right? Look, I know I don’t know you all that well, but I am a living, breathing person-shaped person here. And I  _do_ know Spike pretty well.” She frowned. “Well, I knew the old Spike…and when I say  _knew,_ I mean as in ‘ran from him as much as I could when I wasn’t trying to keep him from torturing my boss’…but you get the—”

Spike cleared his throat. “Thanks ever so,” he said gruffly, eyes on the ground. “But I don’t really reckon that’s gonna score me any points, pet.”

“Well, I  _was_ getting to a point.” She made a mocking face at Wright, who chuckled in spite of himself. “Anyway, before I was so  _rudely_ interrupted… Buffy told me about this one time when an old friend of hers came down from, well, here—Hemery High— and made a deal with you that if he gave you the Slayer, you’d vamp him. This ring any bells?”

Spike didn’t look up. Oh, bells were being rung. This wasn’t the sort of story one told to a demon hunter. Especially if one was in the process of winning the trust of said demon hunter. “Ummm, pet, it’s all right. You don’t have to—”

“No. I’m just trying to make a point.” Cordelia pivoted to Wright, whose brow was furrowed with interest. “Anyway, this guy totally blows it, obviously. Spikey here couldn’t kill the Slayer if—”

“Oi!”

“Well—”

“I don’t  _want_ to kill the Slayer, princess. Slightly different scenario.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Are we forgetting the chip?”

“No. Of bloody course not. How could we?”

“Ahem.” Zack waved a little to direct their attention back. “I believe there was a story…”

“Right.” Cordelia nodded and, very unfortunately, picked up right where she left off. “Anyway, the guy totally delivers but Spike screws it up”—she held up a hand, clearly anticipating Spike’s objection—“and even though it would’ve been just as easy for him to say no to the entire ‘sire’ thing, he vamps him anyway. Kept his word.” She paused with a frown. “I don’t really see why it did any good, anyway. Way I hear it, the kid bit the dust the next night.”

Spike smirked. “Gotta hand it to her. My Slayer knows me well.”

“Aww, now that was heartwarming.” Wright tossed a sideways glance to the vampire, and for a moment, Spike thought he might have spied a grin on the hunter’s face. “See? That story had a happy ending and everything.”

“My point was, Spike’ll keep his promise. Darla’s gonna be dust either way.” Cordelia shrugged. “Even if he promises something particularly grizzly.”

“After the Slayer’s outta harm’s way,” Spike agreed, nodding. “I don’t give a bloody damn what you do to Darla. Torch the place. See what I care. I just want her out.” He fell silent for a moment, considering. Despite however annoyed he was, Spike could certainly appreciate Wright’s need for vengeance, and how much waiting had to be eating at him. “Just work with me on this. Work with me and I’ll work with you.”

This time yesterday, Spike wagered Wright would have said no, hands down.

But this wasn’t yesterday, and though it might not seem it, things had changed.

Wright looked down and nodded. “All right. All right. For…her.”

Spike smiled—a real smile. Genuine and without snark. “Thanks, mate.”

“I’m putting a lot on faith, here. I’ve never even met this chick.”

“She’s worth it.”

“So you keep saying.”

Spike grinned and placed a hand over his nonbeating heart. “Would I lie?”

Cordelia’s brows shot skyward. “Uh, yeah,” she said skeptically. “I just vouched for your reliability, not your honesty. Stay where you’re better acquainted.”

Spike blinked at her. “Are you telling me you _don’t_ think she’s worth it?”

Cordelia smirked. “Oh, heaven forbid! Any slayer who can get two of the most badass vamps crawling on their knees within a stone’s throw of each other has to be worth something.”

“Now, there’s all the reason you needed to give me,” Wright agreed, grinning. “Remind me that I’m doing this to save the girl that effectively got William the Bloody whipped. Any dame like that’s one I gotta meet.”

At that, Spike’s gaze darkened. “I am not whipped.”

Cordelia and Wright looked at each other and grinned. “Yes you are,” they chorused together.

“I—”

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Cordelia told him, shaking her head and jingling her keys, indicating everyone should head for the door. “Didn’t we clarify this just last night?”

“Besides,” Wright added, “you’ve told me several times that you’re not expecting anything from her in return. If that’s not  _whipped,_ I don’t—”

“Sod off.”

“Oh no, buddy. What was it you said? If it annoys, it stays.”

“So you’re taking to quoting a vamp now?”

Wright shrugged. “As long as it’s a whipped vamp, I’m cool with it.”

Spike scowled and stalked forward. He was getting that buggering annoying feeling that this bloke was one he could learn to not-hate, and he didn’t know if he liked that or not. Unlike anyone else back in Sunnydale, Wright’s asides and insults weren’t laced with venom. They seemed no less acidic than the banter Spike had witnessed between others who’d call each other friends. And that was bizarre.

But he didn’t have time to worry with that now. The sun would be completely gone soon, and he had an appointment to make. “All right then,” he said. “I better be off. Wouldn’t wanna keep the sod waiting.”

Wright’s expression brightened and he made to follow. “So, to Caritas then?”

“Thought I told you that you weren’t coming.”

“Funny. I could’ve sworn that…well, you can’t stop me.”

Spike paused and narrowed his eyes. “Zangy…”

There was an amused chuckle. Cordelia cast her gaze and stage-whispered, “Lover’s quarrel,” presumably for the benefit of her ghostly roommate.

“I promised I wouldn’t try to kill Darla,” Wright agreed, opening the door with a cocky grin. “But a chance to meet the legendary Angelus? Who could say no?”

“Right. And if Darla shows?”

Wright shrugged. “Well, I’m assuming this place is sizey. Getting lost won’t present much of a problem. Besides…” It was small, nearly imperceptible, but Spike could have sworn Wright’s eyes glimmered with reckless excitement. The kind he saw on kids who had just figured out where Daddy stored the liquor. It was the light of who Wright had once been, perhaps. When circumstances had been different. Someone who sought trouble as a means of entertainment, if nothing else. “I do this for a living.”

Wright disappeared out the door the next minute, a real spring in his step.

Spike sighed and cast his gaze heavenward. “That boy is gonna be the death of me.”

“Aww, I don’t think so,” Cordelia replied, thrusting her bags into Spike’s arms without awaiting an invitation. “He’s all talk if you ask me.”

“I was speaking figuratively, you know.”

“Oh, I know. But even still…” She nodded at the door with wordless instruction that he should follow. “One measly demon hunter take down William the Bloody? Puhlease. Even if said demon hunter does have a very,  _very_ nice physique. Not to mention abs and a six-pack and…oh, and all that upper-body—”

Spike cleared his throat. Loudly.

To her credit, Cordelia didn’t miss a beat. She turned back to him quickly and flashed a bright smile. “Oh, stop. You know you’re gorgeous.”

He grinned. “Naturally.”

“Is he seeing anyone? You know?”

At that, the grin faded. “Probably best to avoid bringing it up. He just got over a bad break.”

“Oh.” The disappointment on her face was real but brief. In a flash, she had regrouped and aimed him a coy smirk. “You know I’m only asking about him because I know you’re off the market, right?”

“Of course.”

“Besides, all that muscle has nothing against vamp strength. You could totally kick his ass.”

It was odd the way his head hurt to even think of raising a hand against a human in anger. Was that the chip or the conscience-he-didn’t-want? Did it even matter anymore? “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, pet, but—”

“I meant in a fair fight, dummy. Who are you more afraid of? Zachary Wright or Joyce Summers with an axe?”

He couldn’t help it—he chuckled. “Are you kidding? Joyce all the bloody way.”

“My point exactly. Now chop chop!” She clapped her hands loudly, ushering him out the door. “You don’t wanna be late for your date with Angel, do you?”

Spike scowled. “You know, love, if I didn’t like you so much—”

“I know. Just call it charismatic charm.” Cordelia grinned and strolled for the car where Wright had, again, assumed the passenger seat. “Be a dear and put the bags in the back. And are you coming or not?”

Spike stood the curb, safely encased in shadows, even if the sun couldn’t touch him now. Her words had struck him dumb—not the words themselves, perhaps, but the way she’d said them. There was no disdain, only acceptance. Acceptance greater than any he’d ever had in Sunnydale.

Perhaps that was the change. The influx of a conscience he did not want to coincide with the support he thought he would never have.

“Right then,” he said, bouncing Cordelia’s suitcase a bit, having nearly forgotten he was holding it. “To the belly of the bloody beast. Hope the wanker’s hungry.”

It was time then. Time to get the Slayer back. 

Starting with a meeting.

Assuming he dealt his cards right, Angelus would never see him coming. It was risky, but Spike had a natural hand at cards. 

Even if he was known to keep the better plays up his sleeve.


	18. Tourniquet

Lindsey McDonald didn’t even bother to glance up when the door opened. He had known it was only a matter of time before a spokesperson for the unholy trio decided to break the silence that had settled since the Slayer had been brought into the picture. As it was, he had been looking to call Angelus into his office for some time now. There were things to discuss and a meeting to arrange.

That didn’t mean this was a welcome visit. Lindsey preferred to move at his own pace.

Unfortunately, he knew the same could be said for his guest.

“Well, well,” Angelus drawled in greeting. “Alone at last.”

The lawyer snickered but maintained his focus on his work. “Hello, Angelus.”

“You know, I just can’t seem to figure out why… Now, before I get ahead of myself, don’t get me wrong. This not-having-a-soul business is really working out for me. Granted, I have a lot to catch up on, and the pups over at my old stomping grounds aren’t really helping out.”

Lindsey sighed and finally looked up, dropping his pen. “You’ve only been here two seconds, and I’m already tired of listening. Is there something I can do for you?”

A rich chuckle colored the air. Angelus leaned forward, supporting his weight on the desk with open palms. “All that hostility and you still maintain your sense of humor. Maybe I underestimated you, Lindsey. You aren’t quite the sniveling crybaby I made you out to be. Close, don’t get me wrong, but I give credit where credit is due, especially to those I’ll likely be killing within the next five minutes.”

Even at that, McDonald refused to bat an eye. The past few days had proved Angelus was about as much talk as he was action. That wasn’t to say the vampire wouldn’t follow through; his torture sessions with Buffy had been split between words and lashes. Oh no. This was a creature that enjoyed the buildup.

“Is there a point you would like to make?” he asked. “Or should I have you escorted out by force? I do have work to do if you don’t mind.”

“Ah, right to the point. I always liked that about you, Lindsey. So direct. Forceful.” Angelus glanced down, sliding his hand across the length of the desk before finding what he was looking for. A pen. He ran his forefinger over the ballpoint, tossing Lindsey a brief look as a smile curled his lips. “You’re really not afraid of me…are you?”

Lindsey’s eyebrows shot skyward. He gestured dismissively. “Should I be?”

“I could kill you with this, you know. Your head would hit the floor before you could think to call for help.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Lindsey replied. “But you didn’t come up here to threaten me.”

“Didn’t I?” Angelus smirked. “You really think you matter to her? That she lies awake, dreaming of you when the day is done? That she touches herself and calls out your name when she—”

“No need to be crude.”

Angelus tilted his head and studied him. And in a brief moment of triumph, Lindsey realized he’d irritated the vamp.

Something he doubted many could claim and still live. But unfortunately for Angelus, Wolfram and Hart still wanted Lindsey alive. And being that Wolfram and Hart knew how to punish someone, Angelus couldn’t so much as sneeze on Lindsey as he could kill him.

Angelus knew it, and he knew that Lindsey knew it. And it pissed him off.

Lindsey sat up a little straighter and tried not to grin too much. “As it is, I don’t see why would you come up here and brag about that? In fact, why would you come up here at all? Don’t you have a slayer to be playing with?”

That remark didn’t roll as fluidly off the tongue as he’d hoped. The last thing Lindsey wanted to do was send Angelus back into the bowels of Wolfram and Hart to engage in another round of _bleed the Buffy._ The monitors in the room that weren’t technically supposed to exist had become something of an addiction. He couldn’t stop watching—a morbid fascination. For every flinch that crossed her face, for every tear of her skin, for every time she bit her lip to keep from screaming, he hated the vampire more.

And it wasn’t just that. It could never be so simple. His insides twisted with self-loathing that refused to grant him leave. For as often as he watched her torment, he never made move to interfere. To end it. To get her out of there. To save her and himself from this haven of sin. He couldn’t. He remained. He had to. Wolfram and Hart was what he knew.

It had only been two days. Two days. And she bled. She had bled too much.

And yet it was he who was dying.

This conscience thing was a horrendous pain in the ass.

“Funny that you should mention the Slayer,” Angelus replied. “You’ll never believe what Dru shared with us over breakfast.”

Lindsey froze and glanced up.

_Oh. God._

If the vampires knew that their torture sessions were being videotaped, things would go from bad to worse in record time.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Lindsey replied, attempting to maintain a cool, disinterested façade.

“Seems Spike is in town. In town, and looking for us. Imagine that.” Angelus’s eyes narrowed and blazed with an intensity that could melt an iceberg. “I’m thinking, you knew about this, didn’t you?”

Lindsey knew Angelus could hear his heart pounding. He could only hope he misinterpreted the meaning. Let him think that he’d managed to strike fear in the lawyer after all. As long as he remained ignorant of the security cameras, Angelus could think whatever he liked. “Our resources aren’t really focused on new arrivals,” he replied steadily. “But yes, I was informed. By Spike himself, actually. He claims to have rethought Darla’s offer. He wants in.”

Angelus drew back, his face expressionless. Then he released a long chuckle. “Perfect!” he decided richly. “How absolutely perfect. It never ceases to amaze me how centuries can change, but the people remain…” He paused, cocking his head. “Irrevocably the same. Spike, one of my own. Same guy. Same mindless enthusiasm. Different cause.”

“I think it runs in the family, myself.” Lindsey wisely avoided the vampire’s eyes at that, glancing once more to his work. “Anyway, I told him the Slayer was dead. He didn’t seem to care.”

Angelus quirked an eyebrow. “Interesting. I never thought he’d be inventive enough to go with apathy.”

Lindsey leaned back in his chair. “You’re so sure it’s a rouse?”

“Of course it’s a rouse, Bright Boy. Spike always reeked of way too much humanity to give up that quickly. And man—that kid becomes obsessed with something, he stays that way.” Angelus rolled his eyes. “On and on and on until I wished I had never even mentioned the Slayer. It was almost worth getting souled to not hear another word of his mindless rambling.”

“He wants to meet you tomorrow at Caritas. At sunset.”

Angelus inclined his head. “Interesting choice.”

“Not nearly as interesting as what our tracers picked up.” Lindsey leaned forward and retrieved a single-sheeted document from his desk. “The phone he used was issued to a Wright, Zachary Stephens. Anyone you know?”

“Name doesn’t sound familiar.” Angelus frowned.

Lindsey saw the question there and felt another jolt of satisfaction that the vampire had been caught off guard. Even if he believed Spike’s change of heart to be Buffy-related, Angelus knew that Spike’s best option was to go to Angel Investigations.

It could be the phone had been stolen off someone. Borrowed, perhaps, but it was just enough _unexpected_ that it had lent Lindsey pause.

Of course, it was entirely possible that Spike knew what he was doing. Possible, but unlikely. To hear Angelus talk, Spike had not once had a clever thought that was his and his alone.

And the fact that he was soulless led Lindsey to believe the Angel Investigations crew wouldn’t welcome him with open arms. An obsessed soulless vampire was still dangerous, chip or not.

“Well,” Angelus said at last, “I guess there’s never any harm in looking, now is there? Caritas at sunset… Well, I suppose we’ll just have to wait until then.” He turned to flash Lindsey a cheeky grin that dripped with disdain before waltzing out of the office to his leisure.

For everything the Angelus’s souled counterpart had once kept under lock and key, this version of the vampire practically shouted from the rooftops. Lindsey never thought the day would arrive when he would miss the shadow of his former rival. Every minute mounted more surprises.

He did not want William the Bloody in these offices, especially if he had spoken the truth earlier. Vampires were fickle creatures—and despite whatever romance Spike might have felt a few days ago, the man was a notorious slayer killer. He prided himself in it. Had already done two in and—by the files—had spent the past three years of his life doing his damndest to kill the one currently chained up downstairs.

Drusilla thought that he was in love with Buffy. _Hah. Rich._ That was all very well for Drusilla. Lindsey much preferred to keep his opinion based on factual evidence, not the sporadic claims of a rambling undead lunatic. He did not know what Spike was trying to pull, but Lindsey sure as hell refused to do anything that made the Slayer’s situation worse. Unchipping Spike and sending him in would all but sign her death warrant.

Angelus’s hostility toward Buffy was founded but aged. When he tired of her, it was going to take every string in Lindsey had at his command to keep the girl alive. Spike was a different story. His hostility had had time to brew. To bubble and fester. All scars were fresh and likely still bleeding. After all, the vampire had been imprisoned in his own body for more than a year. That wasn’t something he would just walk off.

Which brought Lindsey full circle to an irrevocable fact he’d done his best to ignore. But there was no more pretending. If Buffy was to survive, it would be because he got her out. He had to do it in order to sleep at night, and he had to do it soon. Before things got worse. Before William the Bloody was implicated.

It was merely a question of how.

*~*~*

This time, she knew she was dreaming.

He stood in the doorway, his features blurred, either for the lack of convenient lighting or due to the mask of tears that had long since dried and crusted under her eyes. She didn’t know. Had long since stopped caring.

How much time had passed? Days? Weeks? Years?

Days. It was only days. Two or three at best. Likely three. Three sounded good. A sturdy, wholesome, reliable number. Three days since she’d seen him. Since he’d burst into the Bronze to tell her what was coming. To warn her about Drusilla and Darla. What they had planned for her.

To warn her about Angelus.

And before that? A walk through Restfield cemetery. Cordial. Nice. Side-by-side, as though they had been doing it for years. Like they were old friends rather than bitter enemies.

She had opened up to him that night. She had gone against her own established rule. She had opened up, and Spike, never one to shy from a challenge, had admirably stepped up to the plate.

Everyone is wrong, he had told her. And he had been sincere.

_Like the way your mind works._

And now he was here, and she was dreaming. She had to be dreaming. Trapped in a daze where what she wanted was within reach, even if the same couldn’t be Spike. Couldn’t. Never had been, never would be.

What she wouldn’t do to see his face now. His face. Xander’s face. Willow’s face. Hell, right now, even Parker’s face. Someone to remind her that the world existed outside these walls. That she wasn’t in Hell, repaying for some sin she didn’t know she had committed. That life in all its blessed routine, complete with demonic Hellgods who were after her sister, was still the basis of reality outside her suffering.

But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Because if Spike were here, it certainly wouldn’t be for her. He was a vampire after all. He was a very notorious, very dangerous vampire with two slayer deaths under his belt. And he had been jonesing to kill her since he’d first blown into Sunnydale three years prior.

Funny, though, how the thought of him right now—in this distorted version of her even more distorted reality—brought with it some sort of peace.

 _Flash._ He was standing there before her, now. The open sea of his eyes welcoming her own—those eyes that seemed to see more than anyone else ever had. Despite everything, their differences, their banter, their mutual hatred, he somehow managed to know her better than anyone. Better than even Willow at times, and that was scary. Vampires weren’t supposed to be that perceptive. _Spike_ wasn’t supposed to be that perceptive. He knew her. Oh, he knew her. He always had.

He knew slayers, he had said. That was true. But he knew Buffy better than any of the others. He knew _Buffy_.

When he spoke, his breath fanned her lips—her chapped, raw, sore lips. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t scream. That hadn’t been explored, pulled, or cut. Angelus was a connoisseur of such things, and by the way he touched her, he never wanted her to forget it.

“What’s this?” the Spike-apparition demanded. “My girl all chained up? That won’t do, now will it?”

Buffy lunged forward at that—or rather, tried to. Her bindings held steadfast, pulling on skin that had long ago outstretched its limits. Her muscles were sore and abused, tired from struggling. Tired of holding her up while the others made their play. Simply tired. She was grateful for the lack of mirrors—feeling the grime and blood caked upon dirtied flesh was enough. The last thing she needed was a diagram.

The chains would withhold anything, even and especially images conjured simply because she wished it so. Buffy gave up after a few seconds, releasing a pitiful wail as she limped in defeat. “Spike…” she whimpered. “Please…”

“Things are gonna get rough. You’re gonna have to sit tight. Close your eyes. Pretend It’s not real. And wait. Just wait. I’ll make it all go away.” He reached out to caress her cheek and she was surprised when it didn’t hurt. When she didn’t feel the need to flinch. Rather, it was exquisite. Being touched out of feeling rather than unsatisfied anger. Rage. Fury. Everything that made Angelus who he was. “Hold on for me, all right, love? Can you do that? We’re trying.”

“Spike,” she moaned, biting back tears. She had thought she'd drained her body of tears, but somehow they kept coming. Stinging her eyes, waiting to trek painful rivers down swollen cheeks. “Please, don’t… Angelus…he’s…”

“I’ll find you.” He flashed a grin, then leaned forward softly and caressed her lips with his own. It wasn’t passionate or unkind, not teasing or cruel, rather gentle and reassuring. And yet, somehow, it was the sweetest kiss she could remember. And real. Oh god, it felt so real. She could almost smell him. Cigarettes, leather, whiskey…tears? Were those his tears or her own? Why would he cry for her?

Too soon it was over, and he pulled back, drawing locks of bloodied hair between his fingers with a look on his face that she had never seen before. Never seen. Couldn’t place. But she loved it.

“I promise, Buffy. I’ll find you.”

She opened her eyes and allowed her tears to sting, but before she could call him back, beg him to stay, he had dissolved.

There was a slam and she jerked awake.

The fantasy was over. Reality stepped forward with all its wretched glory.

This was it. She was alone.

Angelus had returned.

He flashed a smirk and tossed some foreign object to the ground beneath her feet. Buffy refused to blink; refused to look at it. Rather, she lifted her head with whatever kept her going and met his eyes. Beat by beat.

And, as she had at every interval, refused to show him any fear.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted, then smashed his lips to her forehead in a biting, mocking kiss. “Miss me?”

The warmth the dream had given her faded. Truth returned. Nasty, spiteful, and real.

The same that could never be forgotten. Wanting did not make it so.

She was alone.


	19. Back Door Man

“What?”

“Whaddya mean, ‘what’?”

“I mean, ‘what’? What’s wrong with it?”

“You mean other than everything? Bloody hell, and I thought you were supposed to be the professional here.”

“I am!”

“And that’s the best you can do?” Spike arched an eyebrow and tossed a thoroughly smoked cigarette to the pavement as the two neared Caritas. From the outside, it looked to be a busy night, and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

Right now, though, there were more pressing matters.

For starters, a certain demon hunter who was in way over his head.

“I don’t see what you’re griping about. It seems more than—”

“Angelus isn’t some run of the mill vamp, Zangy. He’s expecting a fast one.” Spike shook his head heavily, a low, humorless chuckle rumbling from the back of his throat. “It’s gonna take more than that to chafe his willy. The stupid git won’t have an ear for believing me as it is.”

“Fine. You handle the ‘more’ and I’ll focus on the ‘that.’ Seems reasonable.” Wright paused. “And plausible, if you ask me—”

“I did ask you. Remember? The entire reason we’re having this bloody conversation?”

“Well, from what your friends have told me about this Host guy, I think he’d go for it.” Wright regarded him. “Doesn’t seem like he’s rallying for the position as Angelus’s number one fan, either. I think as long as we make it look coincidental—”

Spike laughed again. “That’s just it, mate. Great-Daddy Angelus doesn’t believe in coincidences. Just like the Slayer in that, much as I hate to admit it. If anything, it’ll look bloody timely.”

Yet, if he pushed his pride aside, Spike knew it was likely the best idea that either one of them would come up with, even if it did risk more than he cared to risk. But there was this plan or no plan. He didn’t have time to come up with an alternative.

“Look…” Wright sighed and combed a hand through his hair. “I’m good at this. I am. And I know it can work. How about we do the plan, and to call it even, I’ll buy the first round of drinks?”

Spike paused at that, doing his damnedest to shadow a grin. The bloke better start watching his step—he was going to end up Spike’s personal version of Xander Harris. “Right mate,” he said, thumping him once on the back for good measure. “I’m convinced. You got yourself a deal.”

“I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The fact that I walked right into it.”

Spike smirked. “My, my. Can’t put anything passed you hunter types.” He held up a hand before Zack could retort, nodding at a break in the sidewalk that led to an underground establishment. “Oh, looky. We’re here.”

“Has Angelus arrived yet? Can you tell?”

“It’s not like sensing him through the bloody Force, Obi Wan. And yeah, while the wanker does have a familiar stink about him, there’s about seventy-five lurking down there alone to compete with it.”

“You mean the great William the Bloody can’t even sense when his own grandsire is near?”

“What is it with you prats and calling me that?”

Wright shrugged. “It’s just fun to say. Of all the vamps I’ve known—and by _known_ I mean _killed_ —there’s never been one that’s had two nicknames. If I were you, I’d stick to the first. It has character.” When all Wright earned was a frown, he gestured emphatically. “Come on! There’s ‘William the Bloody’…or…” He dropped his voice and performed a very impromptu and frighteningly accurate impersonation of Ben Stein. “‘Spike.’”

“Are you suggesting that _Spike_ doesn’t have character?”

“It sounds like a name that belongs to an overweight biker with way too many tattoos for his own good.” Zack paused. “And as far as suggesting? No. I’m flat out telling you that it lacks in the character department.”

“The wankers I impaled seemed to have a different opinion.”

“Well, by all means, hit me with your best shot. Try and persuade me.” Wright flashed a condescending grin. “Of course, you’d get a headache, and then I’d have to kill you for trying.”

“You’re just looking for an excuse to kill me.”

“Can’t get anything past you, can we?”

“Well, keep looking. Haven’t you heard? I’m a sodding white hat now, just like the rest of you. Cordy cleansed me of all my wrongs when she invited me in, didn’t she?”

Wright snickered. “You make her sound like the Pope.”

“Well, no. I wouldn’t give her that much power right off. Besides, my family wasn’t Catholic.”

“Then you can’t be all that bad,” Wright replied with a grin as they plodded down the outer stairwell and stepped into Caritas.

It was weird, seeing the hunter’s face with a grin on it. Spike hadn’t known the bloke for long, but enough time had passed that he could tell the man was one with little or no humor in his life.

“Besides,” Wright continued, voice elevated to be heard over the noise. “I don’t think anyone could ever consider you a white hat.”

“Thank Christ for that. I’d have to stake myself.”

A pause. “Well, now that you mention it…”

“Ha bloody ha.” Spike favored him with a two-fingered salute, then turned his attention to the scene before him. Specifically, the bloke on stage.

Lorne was singing again.

He was singing Barry Manilow.

Someone needed to be shot.

“ _Her name was Lo-la_ ,” the Host vocalized beautifully. “ _She was a showgirl. But that was thirty years ago, when they used to have a show. Now it’s a disco…but not for Lo-la. Still in that dress she used to wear, faded feathers in her hair. She sits here so re-fined. And drinks herself half blind. She lost her youth, and she lost her Tony, now she’s_ —” He stopped and directed the microphone to his very attentive audience, who screamed back, _“Lost. Her. Mind!”_

Zack was staring at the stage with a mix of wonder and fear. “What the hell is this?”

“Apparently, it’s the hottest spot north of Havana.”

A long pause.

“ _Why_ is it the hottest spot north of Havana?”

“I don’t know.”

Wright quirked his brows and shook his head. “Well,” he decided with a note of defeat. “I guess that if no one expects the Spanish Inquisition, then no one can expect that either.”

Spike barked a laugh. “Our chief weapon is surprise,” he said. “…fear and surprise.”

“Two chief weapons,” Wright continued without missing a beat. “Fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency!”

The vampire was grinning broadly now. He couldn’t help it. “Er, among our chief weapons are fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, and near fanatical devotion to the Pope!”

“And here I thought you weren’t Catholic.”

“Oh, sod off.” Spike nodded to the stage where Lorne had spotted them, ending his highly annoying number, thanking everyone and announcing that the next routine would be performed by a Fungus demon from the Caribbean. He hopped down and immediately wormed his way through the crowd.

“This bloke,” the vampire continued, pivoting to Wright, “He’s the Host, the git that told me to find you.”

“Spikalicious!” Lorne returned in greeting. “So good to see you, too.” He turned to Wright with a cordial smile. “And you must be the demon hunter.”

Wright inclined his head. “Hi.”

“Yeah, mate…” Spike shifted forward intently. “We gotta problem.”

“More like a proposition,” Wright corrected.

“Angelus is gonna show at any minute—”

“—and we need him to believe that Spike is not, in fact, a lovesick vamp, but actually dangerous.”

The vampire glared.

Wright smirked.

Lorne blinked. “Huh? You invited Angel here?” Without awaiting a reply, he cast his gaze upward and heaved a sigh. “Leaping Lazaruses with a pogo stick. There goes another bartender.”

“We needed somewhere neutral,” Spike explained with a shrug.

“Yeah. Thanks for the nod, boys. Glad to know I’m in your thoughts.” The Host neared and lowered his voice. It was obvious he wanted to shout, but there was no point in riling the other customers. “I can’t have Angel in here harassing my customers! You have any idea how bad for business that is? It took a week to get back to the normal quota, and that was _with_ the sanctuary spell!”

“Would you do it for a girl?”

Wright arched an eyebrow. “Does he look like _you_ to you? He doesn’t go all gooey whenever someone mentions—”

But the Host had already rolled his eyes and nodded. “Oh, fine. Throw a slayer in the deal. Twist my arm. Want my liver while you’re at it?” He shook his head. “Yeah, fine.”

Spike beamed and smirked at Wright.

Lorne sighed. “What do you need me to do?”

*~*~*

The plan was simple. The Host was seated at the pub, chatting with his current barkeep while nursing a phony headache. Spike, meanwhile, had perched himself on a stool surrounded by female demons of every breed and variety, and looked to be having a ball.

Hard to believe it was a façade.

Wright was by the door, watching with awe and wondering where a dead guy got the energy. To his credit, Spike didn’t seem truly interested in any of the lame come-ons, despite the amount of cleavage being shoved in his face. There weren’t many creatures—human or not—that Wright figured would remain unaffected. Especially to a girl that did not reciprocate his feelings.

He had only known Spike for a day or so. A day. Somehow he had gone from killing first and asking questions later to nearly treating a demon as an equal. There was something seriously fucked up with the world.

Trouble was, Spike didn’t act like a conventional vampire. Maybe monsters were difficult to hate when they didn’t behave like monsters.

The past few years had kept the same routine. Get up, eat, dress, kill local nasties. That was the way it was. That was how he lived with himself every day in a universe that no longer had Amber Wright in it. And that was fine with him, thank you. After all, the world had given him everything he’d wanted only to rip it away. He was owed his vengeance.

Darla had set the bar to which all others of her kind were measured. And he had never stopped in the past. Hunting was not a matter of negotiation. Demons were bad. They ruined lives, destroyed families. They were a cancer on this earth, and he was the chemo.

That first year, Wright had killed every nasty thing that crossed his path. Anytime he wasn’t hunting, he was buried in books. Researching, memorizing, and researching more. Learning everything there was about the Order of Aurelius. Its members, their histories, and their bloody trail throughout Europe.

 _Flash._ There were Darla and Angelus, terrorizing a demon hunter named Holtz.

 _Flash_. Murdering a girl in a convent.

 _Flash._ Killing Drusilla’s family right in front of her, then making her one of them.

History was scattered with Darla. Every page. Every word. Every syllable. There she was. Russia, France, Ireland, Germany, Spain, Romania…it never ended. Not for her. Wherever she went, she killed. And wherever she killed, she made sure her presence was known.

And she wasn’t even the worst of them. Oh no. The master must ultimately bow to its creation. She had molded her own Pygmalion. Without a doubt, Angelus took the cake. Hell, he sold out the bakery. There wasn’t a single mention of him that wasn’t drenched in blood. He was the leader of Hell’s armies. He was the reason there wasn’t an atheist in the foxhole. He had created the fear behind the name _vampire_.

The Master had made Darla. Darla had made Angelus. Angelus had made Drusilla. And Drusilla had made the vampire that was currently Wright’s partner. His cohort. His associate. And Spike was going against those to whom he was bound in blood to save the one person that shouldn’t matter.

With no thought for himself.

Absolutely amazing.

Wright would have liked to believe it a rouse. He would have liked that more than anything, except the chance to see Amber before him right now, safe and sound, reassuring him that the past seven years had been some awful dream. But things had changed. Wright had built his entire career on stone, on not feeling, and it had only taken a matter of hours for his barriers to crumble. To his credit, he didn’t believe that Spike realized how much Wright had softened since their meeting in the alley. That it had been so long since he’d laughed or quoted dumb movies that he’d almost forgotten how.

He was beginning to feel again, and that was never good.

If he felt, it meant he was still human. Still living, still breathing.

And she was still gone.

Wright sighed, eying Spike again. A large part of him wanted it over with. To simply kiss the last of his compassion goodbye and kill the vampire for the crimes he’d committed, no matter that he wasn’t that guy anymore. Because if Amber hadn’t been given a chance, why should he? Why should this slayer that Spike was so hung up on? Why should anyone?

Because this—this whatever it was—was real. He hated it, but it was real. The night before served as enough proof.

The look in Spike’s eyes. That raw emptiness. That utter sadness. That fleeting rage. Spike’s face. Hearing that Buffy had been killed.

Even if he knew it was likely a fluke.

A true vampire would have ended it there. A true vampire couldn’t love.

Not really.

Wright had known intimately everything that Spike had felt in that moment. There had been no difference between them then.

He really loved this woman.

And Wright hated himself for seeing it. Hated himself for breaking, even if it had yet to show. Hated himself for being here, for helping a creature he should have dusted, for doing anything other than what he came here to do.

Darla. He was here to kill Darla.

And fucking yet.

There was sudden rustling behind him, and Wright knew that Angelus had entered the scene. It was nothing if not an innate and sometimes frightening sixth sense. Something developed over the years of building and keeping himself in the shadows. Had he more time, Wright might have wondered how he knew it was Angelus and not just another vampire, but he didn’t need to. The look Spike gave him confirmed it.

Now to put on a smile and act like a right loon.

It was time.

Zack pivoted sharply on the heel and would have plowed directly into Angelus had the vampire not already pushed him aside. Angelus didn’t even pay attention to him—he only had eyes for Spike, who suddenly seemed very interested in the rack of a purple-skinned demon-whore.

“What the hell is this?”

Wright cleared his throat and plastered on what had to be the dumbest smile of all time. “Isn’t it great?” he asked loudly, earning an irritated glance. “See that guy? Over there? With all the chicks? See—”

Angelus didn’t even spare him a glance. “Shut up.”

“Unbelievable. And—whew—what a set of pipes! Took one turn at the mic and all those girlies just flocked over to him.” Zack clasped his hands together. “And what’s best, he’d promise he’d turn me once he got something worked out with his schedule. Can you imagine it? A vampire! Living for-fucking-ever! Think of how much tail you’d get after a few centuries. Man, wait until I tell the guys downtown about _this_! They’ll shit themselves!”

At that, Angelus’s attention was snagged.

“He what?”

Wright let his face fall with practiced ease. “Oh, he’s a vampire. Or he says he’s a vampire. If he’s not, he has this really cool trick where his face goes all fangy. Not the prettiest picture, but hey—no reflection, so it’s not like I’d have to see myself or anything.” Then he grimaced. “’Course, there is that _drinking blood_ thing. Yuck. But I guess small prices must be paid if I’m going to live forever. An _eternity_ of pussy. What do you think?”

That seemed to be the extent of Angelus’s patience. The vampire snarled, the bones in his face shifting, and the next instant, he’d backed Wright into a corner, pinning him in place with a forearm to the windpipe.

Wright thought he faked fear quite well. It had been, after all, a long time since he’d played the part. He waited the appropriate number of seconds before widening his eyes and breaking into a broad grin. “Oh, dude!” he exclaimed. “You’re a vamp, too! Man, this is so my night.”

Angelus snarled again. “Better watch it, boy, or I might be persuaded to take you outside. You know what happens when we go outside, right?”

“Dude, did you not hear me? I am into _chicks._ ”

Angelus stared at him incredulously and rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he yelled to no one in particular, cutting a brief silence through the noise that surrounded them. “Spike was going to let _you_ live forever? Sheesh, and I thought that boy had standards.”

“H-he s-said h-he had l-lots of time t-t-to make up for.”

Stuttering was always good. Gave it a feel of realism.

“All right, Polly. Talk. What do you know? And the truth, please. You see, I get a little…testy…when I feel I’m being had. You wouldn’t want me to get testy, would you?”

Wright could tell that Angelus was dying to do something to measure his words. Slam him against the wall, tighten his grip around his throat, rip his lungs out and lick them clean—the usual. He could also tell he wouldn’t—and not just because of the sanctuary spell.

Angelus wanted answers, and he was the man who had them.

“Look, man!” he cried, clutching Angelus’s wrist in a semblance of fear. “All I know is that that dude sang—”

“He sang?”

“Yeah! He totally sang! And then—”

“The Host? He around here?”

Wright frowned. “Host? What host?”

There was a rumbled sigh. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. That little ignoramus always did want to sire idiots as useless as him. The Host! A tall, greenish fellow, annoying with a tendency to read your dry, meaningless, and rapidly-becoming-shorter future when you sing?”

“Oh! The green guy!” Wright wriggled free from the vampire’s grip and nodded, pointing at the bar. “Man, that dude pulled a total wig and has been over there ever since.”

Sure enough, Lorne was perched faithfully on a barstool, brilliantly crimson rag against his forehead as he sipped at a Sea Breeze. He was talking with the server, occasionally throwing irritated, half-frightened glances over his shoulder. When he glanced over to the pair, his eyes widened and he yelped something unintelligible before making a quick break for a section reserved for staff only.

Angelus frowned, confusion and surprise burning in his eyes. Zack had to refrain from the temptation to yelp his success.

Then Spike was there, standing just a few feet away, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, brows raised and the kitschiest smile on his face. “Whatsa matter, Peaches?” he drawled. “You eat another philanthropist, or aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Spike,” Angelus said in greeting, releasing Wright completely. “I must admit, this is not what I expected. Making with the singing, taking up losers more pathetic than you… What? You trying to impress me?”

“Not everything’s about you, mate. Or haven’t you learned that yet?”

“You set this up for my benefit? Really, I’m touched.”

Spike shrugged, rocking on his heels a bit. “Just thought you’d appreciate a bit of the old proof. My last showing wasn’t exactly anything I’d brag about.”

“Yeah, I heard. Moping and wailing and throwing yourself on the ground so the poor, dainty Slayer doesn’t get her feet wet.” Angelus shook his head, tsking. “I gotta say, your taste just gets funnier and funnier.”

Wright’s brows winged skyward, but Spike didn’t look at him.

“Don’t really see where you’re one to talk, mate. You’re the one who popped her cherry, after all.” He shrugged and reached for his cigarettes. “Anyway, I’m over it. Guess I wanted a little taste, see what the fuss was about, but no harm no bloody foul. Bit of the old spot of violence oughta throw me properly back in the game.” He jutted his chin toward Wright. “Even brought me a peace-offering for Dru.”

“You really think she’s gonna forgive you that easily?”

Spike frowned, blowing out a column of smoke. “Well, no. That being what the peace offerings for, you ninny.”

“You got a lot to own up for, and I’m not sure I’m buying this.” Angelus stepped forward. “Funny how the last time I saw you—really saw you—you had decided to take up a place next to the Slayer and her holy brigade of apocalypse-stopping buffoons.”

“Well, the Slayer’s gone now, isn’t she?” Spike replied coolly. “Shouldn’t be a problem unless you decide to lose your marbles over another one, as far as I’m concerned. ’Sides, my story sticks. I like this world. It’s got all sorts of bloody potential. And, truly mate, that was more ‘cause I was tired of listening to you and Dru knocking boots. Darla’s being back’ll be enough to gimme at least some quality time with my dearest, don’cha think?”

Angelus gave him a long, thoughtful look. “You see, William,” he said. “This is where I’m having my problem. I don’t think we have any use for you…at all. Other than the occasional knack for keeping Dru entertained, you brought nothing to the Order except an unbelievably annoying habit of getting in my way.”

“Well,” Spike retorted before taking another puff of his cigarette, “this is how I see it. This Wolfram and Hart gig’s bigger than you, and that’s just killing your poor precious ego, especially since I know you wanna be out in the thick of it to shake that nasty soul off you. Way I heard it, this was all fixed according to their liking. I could always take it up with that Lindsey bloke or someone with a bit more tug. Someone a little higher up on the food chain. Or I could let you pretend to have a vote and come back on your terms. Which would you prefer?”

For a moment, Wright was certain that was the end—that Angelus would decide Spike was better staked than dealt with.

But he was wrong.

“And the whelp?” he asked.

Spike shrugged. “Just a tasty morsel to smooth over my princess. I do owe her an apology.”

Angelus tossed Wright a look. “Morsel got a name?”

“Zack,” Spike said.

Wright’s eyes went wide, and Spike must have caught it, because he hurried to add, “Morris.”

Or maybe not.

Well, two could play at that game.

“There are some who call me…Tim,” Wright added.

Angelus just blinked at him. Spike, on the other hand, looked torn between wanting to rip out his throat and laugh at the joke.

 “You really think Dru’s gonna forgive you if you give her this?”

“Willing to try, mate. Got any better ideas?”

Angelus inclined his head. “A few. But this is a decent start.”

“Yeah, except I still got me a problem.” Spike tapped his cranium. “Little birdie told me that your friends might be able to help me out in that department. Make it so I can chase the other puppies again.”

Wright went rigid. _What the fuck?_

He didn’t remember the chip’s removal being up for discussion.

“Ah, yes. The chip.” Angelus crossed his arms, chuckling. “Only you would be incompetent enough to become the lab monkey of some fraternity boys. I—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard ’em all, you overgrown ponce. Do your bloody worst. Oh, and while you’re at it, feel free to stuff it.”

 “Temper, temper. Why would I stop when it’s so much fun?” Angelus shook his head and rumbled another long chuckle. “You always did offend easily, Spike. Never took care of that. Gives others the advantage… Not to mention it makes pissing you off hilarious.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “You gonna help me out or not?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You didn’t say please.”

“I could rip your head off. Be just as effective and a whole lot funnier.”

“Big words. Think you could?”

“Guess we could always find out.”

A long beat settled between them before Angelus finally cracked a smile and thumped Spike on the back for good measure. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Right. I’ll have Lindsey make the arrangements.” His eyes danced. “Get you…deprogrammed.”

“I’m droppin’ in,” Spike replied. “Tomorrow at sundown. All right? Then we can get to it. Get the sodding procedure over with.”

“And here I thought you’d want to come back with me. Get to that groveling you’re so good at.”

Spike flicked a look in Wright’s direction. “You think Dru’s ready to see me? Thought she might take a night to warm to the idea. After the way we left it…”

Angelus frowned, considering. “Yeah, she wasn’t happy. And she can pitch a fit like no one else. Thankfully, she trusts Daddy to take care of her where it counts.” He turned his attention briefly to Wright and winked as though he was in on the joke. “I can smooth things over for you at home, Spike. She’ll be willing and eager when you get back.”

“Just the way I like her.”

Angelus smiled. “And then…I think I’ll take everyone out on a little field trip. It’s been too long since we went out for a good old-fashioned hunt.”

“Do I get to come?” Wright said, and even he heard the sharp accusation in his voice.

Why was he surprised? _Disappointed?_ Spike was a soulless creature, just like the rest of them. Of course he would twist this to his favor.

But damn, he couldn’t help it. Wright felt let down.

Angelus’s gaze remained on Spike. “Sure,” he said. “We’ll bring the whole family.”

*~*~*

From the look in the demon hunter’s eyes, he was just itching to get Spike out of the protection of a sanctuary spell, though he hadn’t the faintest idea why. The only thing he knew was Wright was seriously brassed about something.

Perhaps he had underestimated his own acting abilities. This was the second time he had fooled Angelus. And now he could add Zack Wright to that list—the demon hunter who wasn’t too keen on believing him in the first place.

It might have been easier, safer, to clear the air inside Caritas, but something told Spike that his reluctant companion wouldn’t stake him without cause. Wright had already had his chance a time or two. He didn’t seem the type of bloke to not let a fella know what he’d done to earn a dusting—at least not now that they were relying on each other.

So when it came time to leave, Spike didn’t hesitate. Just waved at Lorne, who was busy assuring his regulars that Angelus was not on his guest-list, before heading out.

“‘Some call me Tim’?” Spike demanded as soon as they reemerged to street level. “Were you bloody trying to give us away? Fuck, it’s a good thing Angelus is such a bloody dolt. The wanker never had enough humor in his life to appreciate Monty Python.”

Wright smiled sourly, which was definitely better than a stake in the heart. “Hello! You’re the one who decided that I’m the lead of _Saved by the Bell_.”

Spike shrugged, unable to conceal a grin. “You’re lucky I was able to recover that quickly. It was the first thing that came to mind.”

Wright stared at him. “That was the first thing that came to mind?”

“Rather fitting, don’cha think?” Spike bit back a chuckle. “Mate, I don’t think there’s anyone in the whole sodding world that’s watched more telly in the expanse of their sad, empty lives as I have this past year. Let’s face it, he’s the most popular Zack there is in syndication.”

“If I’m Zack Morris, does that make you Screech?”

“Oi! Watch it!”

There was a chuckle as they fell into step. Comfortable. Even with the noise of the metropolis around them. Even with everything.

It was a few minutes before either spoke again.

“Are you really going to do it?”

Spike glanced up. “Do what?”

“Get your chip removed?”

 _Ah._ Spike relaxed a little. So that was the reason Wright had been glaring stakes at him. It made sense. For a vampire who claimed to be off the good stuff, his desire to remove his handicap had to look suspicious.

But that didn’t change anything. Yes, Spike wanted the chip out. He wanted it out more now than ever. He knew that his unspoken oath to Buffy would keep from killing. There would be no hurrying to off her friends. There would be no hurrying to off anyone. There would be no offing of anyone. He was on a strict diet of pig’s blood and he intended to adhere its conditions.

At least for now.

It was more than that. Spike knew that whatever decision he made now was final, and no matter what happened with the chip, his budding humanity wouldn’t stop budding. Oh no, it kept coming. Kept with every breath he didn’t breathe. A chip didn’t make or break anyone. His had simply offered him a window. A view. And he, being the enormous dolt he was, had looked out.

He had been reminded of the world before he was killed.

But the chip was dangerous. It was dangerous for him with people like Zachary Wright out there. Those who had been wronged by vampires or demons. Those on a mission to cleanse the world. He needed means of protection. He needed something, or else the legend William the Bloody would meet an ending that was not at all fitting for his reputation.

“Yeah,” he replied at last. “I’m gonna do it.”

There was a sigh. “You hypocritical bastard, I knew—”

“I’m not gonna kill anyone, Zangy.” Spike sighed and shook his head. “I give you my sodding word on that, all right? I eat anyone and you’re free to stake me. No questions asked. I won’t even put up a bloody fight. That rest well with you?”

Another breath. The hunter’s anger dimmed almost instantly. That notion was warming. They were making progress after all. “All right.”

An understanding. Formed, spoken, and agreed upon.

All right.

*~*~*

Lindsey slammed the phone into its receiver.

He was so fucking sick of everything going wrong. One thing after another. Darla. Dru. Angelus. The Slayer.

And now Spike. Spike was on board. On board, and he wanted the fucking chip out.

Well, of course, he did. Couldn’t torture a slayer with a zapper in the noggin.

This had gone far enough. It was time for action.

He would be damned before William the Bloody set a foot in this office.

Lindsey chuckled, paused, then brought the phone to his ear again. Easy enough. He was damned, anyway.

“McDonald here,” he said, voice cutting through the dark silence of his office. The days had grown longer without his consent. He wondered who to talk to about that. “I need you to assemble a team. We have another ad hoc vampire to take out. Yeah. Right away.”

He might be damned, but there was no way he was adding to his sentence. If he was going down, he was going to take as many with him as possible.

Might as well use power while it was still his.

It was the least he could do.


	20. To the Innocent

In the course of his long unlife, Spike had accepted there were guidelines that one saved for a rainy day. He had those long memorized, as well. Among the lesser-known stanzas were: there were slums, and there were _slums_.

And Zack Wright’s motel was in the middle of a _slum_.

“I’m a creature who lives in a graveyard,” Spike said as they approached the building. The majority of the word _vacancy_ had burned out, so every that it read _NO CAN_ every time the neon light flickered. “But this, mate, is godawful.”

Wright tossed an irritated glance over his shoulder. “I wanted to keep a low profile, all right?”

Spike favored the building with a long, appraising look and rocked on his heels. “Good job.”

“Look, would you mind waiting out here?”

“Why?”

“I just need to grab a few things and we can get going.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Afraid to let a bloodsucking fiend see the grime inside your grime? Come on, Zangy. It’s not like I have standards.”

“I’d really rather you wait out here.”

“Well, I’m not gonna.”

Wright sighed in exasperation, caressing the bridge of his nose. “Why?” His voice was strained, as though he were holding on to the last of his control.

“’Cause it’s bothering you and now my interest is piqued.”

“Well, it’s going to remain unsatisfied.”

Spike was practically bouncing now, his boylike fascination triggered. If Wright didn’t move aside, he’d plow him down, chip be damned. “Come on, mate!”

“No.”

“What’s there to hide?” At that, Spike stopped and his eyes narrowed. “You got drugs in there?”

Wright stared at him. “What? No!”

“You do so!”

“Leave me alone!”

“You got a stash in there, and you don’t wanna share.” He held up his hands. “Well, don’t worry. I gave up the psychedelic buzz back in the 60s. Made me see things even wonkier than usual.”

“That being the point, I can see why.”

“So, there you have it. I’m not gonna lay a hand on your goods.”

“Yes, I know. Mainly because you won’t be seeing them.”

Spike pouted. He was on the verge of whining like a three year-old. “Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s the lamest excuse ever.”

Wright grinned. “You’ve been hanging around Cordelia too much.”

A chuckle rumbled through his throat. Spike shook his head. “Bint does have a way with words,” he said. “And from how she was talking earlier, she seems to think you’re her type of fella.”

Wright paused at that, a shadow of what might have been a smile crossing his face. “Is that so?”

“Only ’cause I’m unavailable.”

“Oh. Right.” Wright began wrestling with the lock. “And by unavailable, you mean ‘hopelessly in love with your mortal enemy,’ I take it.”

“Not funny, mate.”

Wright cocked his head, apparently giving up on the lock and standing by to study the door with a long sigh. “It is if you’re me,” he said before throwing himself against the door.

“I’ll find time to laugh when she’s back safe and sound,” he decided. “Then it’ll be tragically funny. Besides, Cordelia’s cute, but she’s as daft as a table lamp. More your type.”

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?”

Spike snickered and rolled his eyes. “Right. Bloody adorable.”

Wright laughed in turn, which nearly covered the fact that he’d managed to get the door open at last. He made a mad dive into the room before turning around to slam the door shut. Spike, having caught on, all but threw himself at the threshold. He wasn’t fast enough.

“Give it up,” Wright snapped from the other side of the door. “You’re not getting in.”

“You right bastard.”

Spike heard the chain lock slide into place.

“Sorry,” Wright said singsonged.

The bloke must have really forgotten he was dealing with a vampire. Spike wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or annoyed at this. Either way, he didn’t give himself much time to consider before throwing his full weight against the door hard enough to splinter the lock entirely. The next thing he knew, he had stumbled into a dank motel room under the glare of a pissed off demon hunter.

“You ass!”

Spike fought to his feet, dusted himself off, and flashed another grin. “Sorry,” he echoed.

“If I ever find the idiot that decided vamps could enter public accommodations without an invite, I’m going to tear his spleen out.”

“That’d be the PTB, mate, and good luck.”

Zack snorted; Spike chuckled.

Then took a look around.

The room was pretty much that—a room. A telly, two beds that had been semi-made by room service, and a sparse collection of things that one could likely manage to live without forever, much less however long Wright intended on staying in the Hyperion. There was nothing lying around that seemed remotely incriminating.

Spike turned to Wright. “You were trying to hide the roaches, is that it?”

To his surprise, however, Wright looked equally confused at the anticlimactic reveal. Confused and irritated in the same beat.

“I’m a bad housekeeper,” Wright said lamely, gathering his belongings. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“What?”

“I have to…” Wright nodded at the bathroom.

“Use the loo? Thanks. Didn’t need a sodding diagram.”

He frowned. “I didn’t…” But whatever he _didn’t,_ Spike didn’t know. Wright seemed to give up, instead, turning and marching toward the bathroom. On the way, he snatched something off the dresser too fast for Spike to see what it was. “Never mind. I’ve given up trying to argue with you.”

“Given up? Already?” Spike flashed a grin. “It’s so early in the game, mate.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not playing.” That was definitively that—like a toddler determined to get the last word, Wright slammed the door to the restroom and locked himself inside.

Spike snickered. That bloke was more than a little strange.

And then, for no reason whatever, he found himself overwhelmed with the notion that he needed to call Rupert right then. Likely because he hadn’t kept up to his word at all like he’d intended.

Well, like he’d intended to intend, anyway.

Like he said he would.

“Zangy!” he called. “I’m using your phone. You mind?”

There was a muffled response that he didn’t exactly know how to translate but took it as the go-ahead.

The call was likely the wisest thing he had done all day.

“It’s about bloody time!” Giles roared into his ear as soon as Spike announced himself. “And you better have a damned good reason for not calling sooner.”

“Look, Rupes,” he replied, “if I can, I’ll give you a ring, but from here on out, you’re just gonna have to trust me, all right? I’m not gonna be in the position to pick up the bloody phone every five minutes.”

“Yes, that would be quite the accomplishment,” Giles fired back, “considering your contact with me has been at a very minimal of what we agreed upon before your leaving.”

“Things change, mate. I think you of all people should appreciate it.” Spike tossed a glance to the closed door. Wright was still in the loo. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m flying in solo. Angel’s merry band of superheroes are all on board and…I got help in other places.”

“Other places?”

Spike nodded, then remembered that Giles couldn’t see him nod and said, “Yeah. There’s this hunter, a demon hunter. He’s an all right git once you get passed the attitude and bias, but that’s right up your alley, innit? This guy’s big on the wronged-out-for-vengeance gig. Seems Darla pulled a nasty before she joined up with the Master in SunnyD. Completely ruined this bloke’s life. It’s a sad story.”

“You’re telling me that you give a damn about whatever she did?”

Spike blinked, confused, then remembered who he was speaking with. It surprised him how quickly he’d adjusted to the lesser prejudices of the Los Angeles crowd. He could picture himself saying the same to Wesley or Cordelia and neither of them questioning him at all.

But Giles had questioned him, which made him question himself.

And he found he did feel. He felt more than even he thought he could. He felt because, last night, he’d experienced what Wright must have felt, at least a little. If any of his so-called family even thought of torturing Buffy in that manner, he would have all their heads on stakes before they could explode into dust.

“Well, yeah.”

“I can’t believe you’re bringing freelancers into this. Do you have the slightest idea—”

“Oi! Wait a minute! Zangy’s no bloody freelancer, mate. He’s one of us.”

“One of you?”

Oh. Of course. _One of you._ One of Spike’s kind in the eyes of Rupert Giles.

Of all the fucking nerve…

“How did this man know that Darla was back? How did he know where to find her at all?”

Spike opened his mouth to reply, then paused and realized he didn’t know.

Huh. Well, that was odd. He remembered Wright mentioning that he’d received word, but he never identified a source.

Still, that was not important. It didn’t mean anything.

Only it could mean the world.

“Wes,” he invented quickly, tossing another glance to the bathroom door as it opened again and Wright stepped out, his eyebrows perked. “He’s a friend of Wes’s. Blokes know each other from the way-back-when. He’s the one that brought him in.”

Wright frowned, not following.

Spike waved and turned his back, though watching the other man carefully, fresh with new suspicion. It was likely explainable. Why he was here. How he knew about Darla. How he knew so much about the Order of Aurelius. How he knew everything.

But dismissing it was dangerous. No matter how much Spike had started to feel, no matter that he was becoming more and more human by the day, and it would eventually lead him to a dead end. He wanted to believe Wright was legit because, in the time they had spent together, he had grown rather fond of him. And that wasn’t something that happened Spike every day. Hell, it wasn’t something that happened every century. Angelus was the only other bloke in his life that could even begin to qualify as a friend, and that was only because they had tolerated each other for twenty or so years. He’d never liked the wanker and he knew the feeling was mutual. There was Giles and Xander, of course, but who the bloody hell was he kidding?

And while Wright would likely deny it with every fiber of his being, they were as close to becoming friends as Spike had ever been.

“Look, I’m being careful,” he snapped, turning his attention back to the receiver. “If anything important happens, I’ll give you a ring. But that’s it. All right? I can’t be running off to the phone ’cause you want me to. There are things in motion that—”

“We’re leaving town, Spike.”

Okay. _Out of the blue, much?_

He willed his eyes shut. God, he missed her.

“Oh?”

“The Watcher’s Council shared some rather dire news with us pertaining to Glory and I refuse to risk more by sitting around here. Buffy’s family—everything is in danger, more than just her life.” There was an edge to the Giles’s voice that Spike didn’t want to place. “I cannot put Dawn in that much peril. Joyce is beside herself enough with worry…”

Spike released a long sigh at that. He hadn’t even allowed himself to think how the Slayer’s mother was reacting to all this.

“And her condition…” There was a long pause. “Her condition might be worsening as well. We—”

God. Everything was falling apart.

“Right,” Spike agreed hoarsely. “How do I reach you?”

“I will leave my cell number with Wesley. If that doesn’t work, contact me through the Watcher’s Council. I won’t disclose anything now.” Another silence, not quite as long. “Please, Spike,” he said softly, his voice ringing with desperation. “Please get her back. If you do…I’ll…”

“Don’t make promises, Rupes,” Spike replied. “I’m not here to barter or trade. I’m here because she’s gonna make it. You get me?”

“I get you,” Giles said. Though it sounded like anything but.

Spike sighed again. “Good,” he replied, then hung up before the Watcher could go on. There was nothing more to say.

Wright arched an eyebrow and heaved his bag over his shoulder once more, nodding for the door. “I take it your friends back in Sunnydale don’t know about your little Slayer infatuation?”

“Oh, they know I have a slayer infatuation,” Spike replied. “They just don’t know it’s gone from ‘wanna kill’ to ‘wanna shag.’”

 “Is that all you wanna do?” Wright ventured softly, as though afraid of the answer. “’Cause last time I checked, grown men didn’t cry when a potential cum-bucket kicked it.”

The punch hit through the still of the room like dry wood smacking against a steel bin, punctuated with Spike’s consequential yelp of pain.

Wright was on the ground, his nose bloody. “What the hell was that?”

Spike reeled, his fangs bared, hot anger pulsing through his body. If the chip had been out, there was every chance he’d have ripped Wright’s innards out through his nose. But the chip wasn’t out, so all he had at the moment were his words. “Don’t ever talk about her like that,” he all but snarled. “Ever. Do you understand me?”

There was a long pause.

“Yeah.” Wright nodded, finally, before moving to climb to his feet. It was earnest. He turned to absently slide a scrap of paper to the dresser, eyes shining. “I’m sorry. That was beyond uncalled for.”

“You’re bloody right it was.”

“I’m sorry.”

A few beats ticked by, the air filled with their mingled breaths. Finally, Spike nodded and moved to the door. “Right then,” he said, casting a quick, curious glance to the discarded note but unwilling to allow his eyes to linger. “Get everything you need?”

Wright nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Another glance to the note. The markings were comprehensible this time. “Right then,” he agreed. “Let’s be off.”

Wright edged out the door, and Spike turned fully to the dresser. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

The final glance sealed it.

On the paper, very legibly, was the word _Hyperion_.

*~*~*

They didn’t outside a stone’s throw of Wright’s motel room before something went wrong.

Very wrong.

Spike was more than accustomed to being in danger with every step that he took, and had long ago conceded the same knowledge that he’d warned Buffy about a few weeks prior. Every day might be the last. Of course, from Spike’s perspective, whatever came his way was ultimately avoidable. There hadn’t been a situation yet that he had not managed to talk himself out of, even if he couldn’t fight, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know that day might still come.

He wasn’t Angelus. He knew that his tale would likely have a dusty ending. He knew he wasn’t invincible.

However, he would be damned even more than he already was if the lot of wankers surrounding him now were the ones to do him in.

“Friends of yours?” Wright demanded. They were back to back—surrounded by seven or eight vamps that could have passed as a wandering street gang had Spike not known what to look for.

Spike arched an eyebrow, still attempting to gauge the situation. Each of the sods surrounding him was wielding something wooden and pointy, and while some eyed his companion’s jugular hungrily, it was more than obvious that he was target.

Not bloody good.

And as if to clarify this point, one of the vamps suddenly launched forward, his fangs bared and the stake aimed at Spike’s chest. Disarming the attacker was simple. Punch to the nose, twist of the wrist, and the duster became the dustee.

One down.

It wasn’t difficult to label these wannabes as babies of a larger world. He had been around the block enough times to know who was and wasn’t of the old blood.

No. They were mercenary vamps. He hated mercenary vamps.

“I’d say an emphatic no,” Spike retorted.

“I’m agreeing.” Wright exhaled deeply and withdrew something from the lapels of his jacket. Another stake, most likely, or a weapon of similar nature. Spike wagered that he kept something that would kill vampires handy at all times, just in case he happened to run into a certain blonde with fangs.

“What do you think?”

Spike snickered. “I think I’ve made more enemies in this town than friends. Bloody Angelus. Weren’t we supposed to be pulling one over on him?”

He wouldn’t mention the other option—the one where this was all Wright’s doing.

“No. I mean, you take the three over there, I get the four over here?”

“Why should you get four?”

Wright glanced over his shoulder and flashed a cocky grin. “Because I called it.”

Spike smothered a smirk. There was more of himself in his companion than he had ever encountered in another individual. “Not if I beat you to it, mate.”

“Loser buys drinks?”

“You’re gonna be outta money if you keep on like that. But you got a deal.”

They broke apart at the same time, launching headfirst into a dance that both had long ago memorized and mastered. Spike felt the familiar rush of unbridled excitement tackle his senses, and he whooped in merriment. Too long. It had been far too long since he’d indulged in a true decent spot of violence.

There was one perk to living in Los Angeles, he supposed. There would never be any of the slow nights that had befallen Sunnydale the days leading up to Buffy’s kidnapping.

It was series of low blows and high punches. All too soon, Spike had dispatched the three he’d been after and turned his attention to Wright, catching a glimpse of the man’s fighting skill for the first time. And despite however much he hated to admit it, the hunter knew what he was doing. He moved musically, almost as though he had been designed to be the first male Slayer.

It was almost difficult believe that he hadn’t been doing this longer than seven years. His technique was almost as good as Spike’s, and that was something that Spike didn’t take lightly.

But that didn’t mean he was going to buy the wanker drinks.

Wright had set and aimed to kill the last. Spike got there first.

“And that,” Spike said, tossing the stake to the ground with a grin, “is how it’s done mate.”

“That wasn’t fair,” Wright complained.

“Life isn’t fair, Zangy.”

“I’m so not rewarding you for stealing my kill.”

“Oh, you’re a welcher, then?” He shrugged. “Right then. I can live with that if you can.”

“I am not a welcher.”

“Well, you wanna pick the pub or should I?”

Wright rolled his eyes. “I might not be a welcher, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I’m not buying your drinks, Bloody. Not for that. Deal with it.”

“Bloody?”

“You know…‘William the Bloody.’”

“Not very original.”

“Don’t like it? Stop calling me Zangy.”

“Not on your—”

A horrible, overly dramatic growl sliced through the air before Spike could complete the thought. Immediately, both men whirled in time to see a vamp that had somehow escaped their notice launch itself into the air. It took a fraction of a second for Spike to realize he had abandoned his stake in the last he dusted, and though Wright was quick and had better aim than Spike would ever admit, even he wasn’t that fast.

But then something happened.

Something very, very unexpected.

The attacking vampire exploded in brilliant shower of dust.

It took several seconds to register that the true bombshell wasn’t the sudden end of their haphazard attacker.

It was the source of his demise.

A small girl with dirtied blonde hair, holding a model of what looked to be the same brand of Wesley’s handheld crossbow. The girl and the woman behind her.

There was nothing for a long minute. Spike just stared.

He knew those eyes.

And it stunned him into submission.

“What…” Spike barked, unaware that he was panting. “What the hell is—”

“Nikki!” came from over his shoulder, and then Wright was storming forward, his face distorted in rage. “Where the fuck have you been?”

The young blonde spitfire that was all too familiar shrugged. “Well, if you had bothered to call to tell us where you were, you might’ve found that we’ve been sitting ducks for the past day and a half. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” She gestured to the child at her side. “And don’t use that kind of language in front of her!”

“It’s okay,” the girl replied. “I’ve heard it before.”

“That doesn’t make it all right, sweetie.”

This only seemed to infuriate Wright further. “Stop parenting—”

“Well, I’m sorry. If I don’t, who will?”

“And what a fantastic job you’re doing. It’s almost one in the morning! She should be in bed!” Wright broke into a pace, having seemingly forgotten that he had an audience.  “You take her out like this again, and I’m going to—”

“What?” Nikki spat, arching an eyebrow. “No really, let’s hear it. Drop your little righteous mission? Actually try to be a father for once? Be home at night to tuck her into bed and read her actual bedtime stories? Any of these sound good, or am I speaking a foreign language?” Without awaiting a reply, she glanced over his shoulder and gestured broadly at their confused bystander. “And when did we start associating with vampires? Huh? Especially ones that—”

“Spike?”

It was the first word to come from the child’s mouth, and it took that for Spike to realize that she had been staring at him the entire time.

The girl. The girl. The same girl from the alley.

This wasn’t…it couldn’t be…

“Yeah,” he replied with a weak, still bewildered grin.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Wright abandoned his spat with Nikki without prompt and stalked over to Spike. “What the hell is this? How do you know—”

“He saved us,” the girl responded, her eyes not leaving Spike’s. Small captivating orbs of knowledge. “He saved us from the Kraelek the other night.”

“Not saved,” Nikki huffed. “I would’ve taken care of it.”

“Enough!” Spike threw his hands in the air. God, the alley was spinning. “Will somebody please tell me what the bloody fuck is going on?” He paused and glanced once more to the child, wincing slightly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she replied.

Wright sighed and placed his hands on the girl’s shoulders, holding her to him. “Fine,” he said, glaring at Nikki. “Why do I even bother to try and keep you two out of danger? You practically go on a danger scavenger hunt!” A moment’s pause; he cleared his head and looked back to Spike. “This is Rosalie,” he said. “My daughter.”


	21. Purple Skies

They found the Hyperion virtually deserted when they arrived, and being that it was nearly two-thirty in the morning, this was of little surprise.

“They really must trust you,” Wright commented, coming down the stairs. “Leaving you with Angel’s digs alone?”

Spike glanced up. “I’m not alone. Got you and your merry band, don’t I?” He dropped his eyes to a hastily scribbled letter from Cordelia that welcomed him to all the blood in the fridge—apparently she had restocked—and that she wouldn’t expect money back, this time. He chuckled in spite of himself and poured a glass of crimson goodness. “Though I guess trusting you wouldn’t be in the best interest, either.”

Wright sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Look, would you have told you? Especially with…with what you know about what happened to us?”

“I wouldn’t hurt your people, Zangy.”

“Yeah, I know that. Now.” He shook his head and sank into one of the plush couches in the foyer. “So, you helped them?”

Spike snickered and took a deep swig of blood. They had skipped the explanation in the alley for a reason. The child needed sleep, it was getting later than any of them reckoned was appropriate, and Nikki had looked a good shake from dropping, too. There had been very little exchanged on the way back. Most of the talking had been done by Rosalie, who had very childishly tried to prove that she wasn’t sleepy. She had sat curled in her father’s lap, asking Spike various questions pertaining to who he was and, more importantly, his past. Some of what she asked was so above and beyond the telling signs of her biological age that he had to stop and remind herself that she had yet to blossom into adulthood. Other questions, however, had bordered on adorably ridiculous.

Though he would never admit that.

“On the way to Caritas,” Spike replied, hoisting himself onto the counter. “Cordy got snagged by one of her wonder-visions. Took us to some ruddy alley where your girlies were battling a big nasty.” He stopped and shook his head with a slight chuckle. “Nikki’s a bloody pistol.”

Wright nodded. “Yes, she really is.”

“Who is she?” Spike took another long sip of his blood, cocking his head curiously. “I’m guessing she’s not your—”

“No!” Wright’s eyes went so wide they nearly popped out of his head. “Good god no. Nikki’s…well, she’s my sister-in-law. After Amber…after that happened, I needed someone to watch Rosalie. She learned everything I learned. She’s been with me from the beginning.”

“You let her tag along?”

“I wasn’t about to let my daughter out of my sight. Not after what had happened.”

“Kid looks like she can take care of herself.” He chuckled again. “Even if she is a tiny person. How old is she?”

“She’ll be nine soon.”

Spike nodded. “Older than I thought. She’s small for her age.”

Wright offered a smile. “Takes after her mother in that.” He sighed and leaned back. “Rosalie’s been through more than her fair share. I know she doesn’t deserve a lot of what I’ve made her do or learn. Some of what she does, she’s picked up along the way. Other stuff, Nikki or I have taught her. Made her learn…in case something happened to one of us.”

“No wonder she’s so bloody mature for her age.”

“Oh, she’s always been like that. She’s always known things. It used to scare the piss outta me.” Wright shook his head. “Now I can’t… She’s very gifted. More so than I reckon even I’ve credited. She knows when things happen. Always has.”

There was a long pause.

“Kid’s a seer? Is that what you’re saying?”

“If you wanna call it that, I guess. I’m not sure how Cordy handles it, but Rosalie… It’s not so much seeing things as _knowing_ things. On the few nights that we’re actually together, she’ll be talking about something she saw or read or something to that effect, and stop suddenly to tell me that the phone’s about to ring or a glass is going to fall. Little things like that.”

Spike was silent for a long minute. “All right…little creepy.”

“You’re telling me. Amber and I used to not know what to do with her. Once she started talking… It was like an adult trapped in a child’s body.” He shook his head. “She knows too much for being as old as she is.”

“She how you knew Darla was here?”

The question was unneeded. Silence spoke for all just as well. Wright glanced away and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “We were in Vegas… Well, we were leaving Vegas. There was some…” He trailed off with a frown. “I don’t know the technical jargon for demons, but this one liked lights. It liked lights in a way that should be illegal in forty-seven states. And you know Vegas….”

Spike snickered.

“Well, we were leaving and Rosalie just sort’ve blanked. And she said, very calmly, that Darla was in Los Angeles. Just like that. ‘Daddy, Darla’s in Los Angeles.’” He exhaled deeply. “I’m not even sure if she knows who Darla is, really. She’ll say things like that all the time. ‘Frank bought a new car,’ ‘Paullina got her hair done today,’ ‘Darla’s in Los Angeles.’ I’m sure there’s a reason for everything, but I…I follow leads. Real, firm leads. I’ve already fucked Rosalie’s life up enough to drag her into it any further. After Amber was murdered, I shutdown. I turned all my attention to finding Darla and just…lost myself. Rosalie’s probably the only reason I maintained anything.” Wright sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t even know if I’m the type of person that Amber would love anymore.”

Spike shrugged. “You’ve dedicated yourself to something you believe in.”

“For the right reasons?”

There was a long beat at that. Spike shifted slightly and reached for his cigarettes. He lit up and inhaled, his brow furrowed in consideration. “Way I see it,” he said, “there’s no such thing as the right reason for anything. Why should it matter why you’re doing something so long as you’re doing it?”

“So says the vampire.”

“Yeah, so says the bloody vampire. I might never get why I started having all these sodding touchy feelies. And if I get… _when_ I get Buffy back, she might never know why, either. Rupert and the sodding brigade of white hats’ll never understand why I’m here.” He shook his head and tapped the end of the fag lightly. “Don’t see why it matters. I don’t have the wiring to do the right thing. The fact that I’m making an honest effort at it should be more than enough.”

Wright snickered. “Yeah. Enough for you. I’m supposed to be above it. I guess that went away at some point.”

“You fancy a spot of violence, Zangy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is when I neglect my daughter.” There was a long beat of silence as he gazed off in thought. “Nikki’s great, don’t get me wrong. She’s been with me from the beginning, wanted to learn everything I learned. She loved her sister, despite all the changes she’s gone through, she’s still so much like Amber sometimes that I can’t breathe. And Rosalie… I never wanted to become one of those parents who can’t look at their child because it reminds them of someone they lost. But Rosalie is her mother incarnate. People say that she has my eyes, but I don’t see it. I can’t see myself anywhere on her. All I see is…”

“I get that, mate.”

“I just can’t stop. I’ve dragged Rosalie this far and she’s a hell of a sport about it. She’s never complained. Never…really, never been any trouble at all. Even when she was really little.” He sighed and shook his head again. “But she deserves more than this.”

Spike indulged another puff on his cigarette. “You ever reckon maybe she was made for it?” he suggested. “Sure seems like you were, whether or not you wanna admit it.”

“What? You mean like a slayer?”

“No. God, I hope not. With ugly beasties out there who spend their lives hunting and killing slayers? Creatures like—”

“You?”

The vampire snorted, but nodded all the same. “Yeah. Once upon a time. Never fancied I’d ever change. Slayers are a nasty business, Zangy. They live, they fight a while, then some muck like me comes and ends it all for them. I’ve seen the end of two…can’t say I’m sorry, ‘cause really, I’m not. Not like I oughta be, anyway.” Spike paused meaningfully and glanced upward. “If I never know another slayer again, it’ll be too bloody soon. Your kid…I’d never hope that for her.” He glanced up. “Means more of the same for you.”

Wright shrugged. “Always has. What I do…I’m too deep in to stop. Even for her.”

“Many ways to raise a kid, way I figure it. I’ve been all over the world, mate. Ruined my fair share of happy homes and the like. Done things I…I wish I could regret.” He sighed. “Don’t know if that means anything…wishing I could regret it.”

“I think it means you do, on a level. You regret not regretting, and therefore regret.”

Spike snickered. “You a philosopher, now, or just specialize in therapy for the undead?”

“You’re beyond therapy.”

The vampire chuckled and raised his glass to his lips. “I’ll drink to that.” He finished off his makeshift supper and wiped his mouth. “Kid’s got potential,” he murmured a minute later. “Real potential.”

“We made sure of that. In my line of work, I wasn’t going to let her be in the face in danger every day and not know how to defend herself.” Zack sighed. “Amber wouldn’t have wanted this for her.”

Spike arched an eyebrow. “Even if it had been the other way around?”

“Especially if it had been the other way around. She would’ve…she would’ve been above it.”

“I don’t see how what you’re doing is below it.”

“And again, we’re back to _you wouldn’t_.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t. Just because I’m a vamp doesn’t mean I’m wrong in everything I say and think.” He shook his head, billowing out a pillar of smoke. “You’ve just met the worst of us.”

Zack’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realize there was a best.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Spike, you’re the first vampire I’ve met who has any ambitions that aren’t one hundred percent selfish.” He held up a hand. “And I’m still trying to figure you out.”

“Not much to figure out, mate.”

“Yes, there is.”

The conviction behind the hunter’s tone caused Spike to stop and consider him, realizing what was being offered. That blessed break that had previously been denied. That acceptance. That want of trust, even if they hadn’t made it that far.

With a chuckle, Wright aimed his gaze at his hands. “You’re a strange guy. I don’t want to believe anything that you say and I don’t want to… You’re a vampire. You’re the reason my life’s the way it is. Not you per se, but your kind. I’ve hated vampires for so long. Not demons, _vampires_. For what you are. For what you do, or have done. And now you’re all with the noble _save the woman you love_ crusade.”

“It’s not a crime to not hate me, Zangy.”

“I feel like it should be.”

Spike sighed. “Well, I feel like I should rightly be staked for what I’ve turned myself into. For starting to feel again. For loving her like I do. And it’s not just her. When I saw your kid in the alley being attacked, I…I felt for her. And that’s not right. Not from where I’m standing. I’m not supposed to feel. Not for humans, not for kids, and certainly not for slayers.”

Wright nodded as though he understood, but Spike didn’t see how that was possible.

“Well,” the hunter decided after a minute, “for what it’s worth, I’m glad you do.”

There was a brief pause at that, and Spike found himself smiling. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Me, too.”

And the truly horrific thing was he meant it.

_Fuck._

*~*~*

It wasn’t the most nutritional breakfast in the world, but there were some sacrifices every parent must make. Especially a parent living on Zack Wright’s income. The past few years had seen a tradition of fine dining at whatever local fast food chain was available, and because of the readily low prices everyone in his crowd was more than accustomed to McDonalds.

He had left the Hyperion before sunrise alongside Spike, who was too antsy to wait another day without making the first leap into Wolfram and Hart. They had taken the back alleys in case the sun decided to show up early, and Wright had spotted the vampire one Egg McMuffin that he’d demanded be compensated for whenever they saw each other again. Spike had chuckled, waved his farewell, and disappeared before he could call him on it.

When he arrived back at the hotel, Nikki and Rosalie were awake. That did not surprise him. Over the years, they had all adapted to the radical hours that a vampire hunter lived by.

Breakfast was a tense affair, since Nikki couldn’t let the subject of Spike drop.

“Spike’s a good guy,” Rosalie said before shoving a hash brown into her mouth. She didn’t say anything more, but it was enough to convince her father once and for all. If the years had taught him anything, it was that his daughter’s senses ranged beyond impeccable. Her unspoken blessing banished all remaining doubts.

It didn’t surprise him when Nikki failed to bend that easily. After Amber’s death, she had retreated within herself almost more than he had. Her bloodlust was nearly as intense, if not as refined. She hated all things of a subhuman nature, and nothing short of divine intervention would change that.

The first few years, Wright had questioned the wisdom of dragging her along with him. It was dangerous enough having a daughter that he refused to leave in the care of his parents. His parents had never supported his marriage, and Amber’s weren’t any better. Despite the fact that he knew they loved Rosalie, he would rather have cut off his ear than leave her for what could be years at a time.

Nikki’s presence, while at times problematic, had solved the issue of what to do with his daughter when he was on the hunt. While Nikki could never have filled Amber’s shoes—not as a partner nor as a mother to Rosalie, and she had never tried—she was good for them. And she had learned the tools of the trade with more enthusiasm than he ever could have predicted.

“I still don’t see why he won’t just kill everyone once he gets there and have it over with,” she mused.

Wright quirked an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Is it really? Please tell me how.”

“These aren’t run of the mill vamps, Nic.”

“Yeah, and neither is he, right? He’s one of them.”

“Not anymore.”

“God, would you listen to yourself? You’ve turned into one of…” She shook her head with a heavy sigh, poking at her food. “You were gone for…what? A day? Two days? What happened? What could have possibly happened that—”

“I’ve gotten to know him. All of them. They’re good people.”

“Vampires aren’t people, Zack.”

“Spike’s the only vamp here.”

“All the same.”

“You said yourself that he helped you the other night when he didn’t have to.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And that…what? Makes it all right? Atones for all the other people he’s killed? Jesus Christ, what’s happened to you? They brainwash you? Put you under some crazy empathy spell? Make it so—”

“Dad’s right,” Rosalie piped in. “This one’s different from the others.”

Nikki’s gaze didn’t falter. If anything, she looked even more disgusted. “And you’ve dragged your daughter into it, too.”

“Dragged her into… I haven’t even seen her all week! I’ve been tearing this town apart looking for Darla and you two. Spike was a lucky break.”

“And you’re just gonna let him walk after all this is over?”

At that, Wright quieted. He had nothing to say.

“Oh my god, you are, aren’t you?”

“Calm down.”

“I will not calm down! This…this is crazy! You, being…” Nikki threw her arms into the air and jumped to her feet. “He’s one of them, Zack. He’s killed people just like Amber. And you’re gonna let him get away with it.”

“And what do you know about vamps, Nic? They kill because they like it. Because they don’t feel. Because the kill to them is more important than everything else.” He shook his head. “You know what I taught you. You think this is any fun for me? I know what he is. I know what he’s done. I’ve fucking memorized every documented kill and it makes my insides turn to think of everything that didn’t make the books. But what I’ve seen of him these past couple days defies everything I’ve ever read up on him. On vampires. He’s in love with this chick.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“Well, it does!”

Rosalie’s eyes went wide. It had been a long while since she saw them fight like this. “Dad…”

Neither acknowledged her. They were both on their feet now, glaring.

“You’ve lost it,” Nikki decided. “This guy’s not you, Zack.”

“I fucking know it.”

“And this girl, whoever she is, isn’t Amber. Saving her’s not going to bring Amber back.”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve a chance to live. That doesn’t mean we can leave her there in the hands of these things.”

Nikki’s eyes blazed with anger. There was no talking her out of it. “This isn’t about her at all!” she screamed. “Not to you! It never was! You look at your new best friend, all you see is yourself. Amber’s dead, Zack. She’s fucking dead and if you let yourself turn into one of them, you might as well have killed her yourself.”

A very long, very cold silence swept through the lobby of Hyperion. Wright clenched his fists, trying to prevent himself from throttling her. From hitting her. From doing anything.

It was the wail at first—the piercing scream of a child before Rosalie fled from the room. That shook him out of his stupor. With the dying whimper of his daughter tickling the air, shivers sprouting up and down his arms, he knew no other truth.

“Get…” he said slowly. “Get out of my sight, Nikki. Now.”

Nikki glared at him for a few seconds before her emotions got the better of her. Before he could blink at the tears threatening to burst, she had turned and raced for the stairs.

Wright closed his eyes and hissed out a long, breath, hands going instinctually to his head to ward off an impending headache. He pivoted without thought and returned to the table where the lingering smell of processed food still haunted the lobby.

“Wow,” came a voice from behind. Wright turned on his feet and caught sight of Cordelia who stood in the entrance. “I take it that I really missed something.”

He inhaled deeply, a smiling itching his face. “Morning, Cordy.”

She returned the smile and walked in slowly. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “Well, I’ll let it slide, then. For now. ‘Cause, buddy, I totally need details later.” A pause. “Hey, was that the girl that—”

“You and the others helped the other night? Yeah.”

“Okay. I _really_ missed something then.”

“I’ll fill you in later.” Wright glanced up. “So…how was your night?”

*~*~*

Lindsey froze over his work when the door to his office opened. He knew who it was without needing to look up. And his stomach dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his feet.

They hadn’t even bothered to inform him that an untamed—not to mention unapproved—vampire was in the building.

Things were getting worse by the minute.

“What can I say?” Spike said in manner of greeting, leaning against the doorway. “Couldn’t wait.”


	22. The False Prophet

It was a strange feeling.

The streets were populated with people. All sorts of people. Young, old, tall, short, fat, thin, it didn’t matter. They were people. They were humans. They were everything he was supposed to hate. Everything he was supposed to resent. The wrapping you threw in the trash after a good meal.

He could have one now. He could have a thousand. The chip was gone. It was gone, and he could have whomever he wanted.

And yet.

The procedure had ended an hour ago—there had, apparently, been a lot of paperwork to go through. Medical releases, completely bogus questionnaires, inquiries to his family’s history. Spike had the nagging suspicion that the holdup had been so McDonald could search for a reason to cancel the surgery altogether. There weren’t many things Spike could be sure of anymore, but one thing he did know was that  Lindsey McDonald was not his number one fan. He didn’t know what he’d done to piss off the wanker, but the glares the lawyer kept throwing his way made his feelings more than clear.

Curious.

He was in a dangerous spot. Spike didn’t realize how deep he had allowed himself to get until noting that—quite possibly—he would be facing the rest alone. While Wright, Cordelia, and the others would remain true to their word, bringing them in now had the potential to jeopardize everything.

Angelus had big plans for the evening, and that made Spike nervous. It was a bizarre feeling. Temptation at its blessed fullest. It was hard enough resisting the urge to act out now that he didn’t have a chip to worry with. Now what he craved, and would always crave, was flaunted in front of him. And he had to ignore it. He had to say _no._

This was as close to bona fide torture as he ever wanted to come.

He had given his word, and that was something he refused to take lightly. Too much depended on restraint. Buffy’s trust, Wright’s friendship, and the continued support from his new colleagues at Angel Investigations. So much on the foundation that he would be a good little boy and play by the rules.

It was against his nature.

Every step thus far had been against his nature.

There was also that pesky little voice that warned him that he didn’t really want to partake in the violence anyway.

That was also a bother.

It was intimidating—carrying so much weight on shoulders that were not only accustomed to dropping their burden whenever convenient, but also rolling around in the carnage. Being responsible was something he had never fancied for himself.

And yet here he was.

Spike discovered quickly that there was little one could do in this city that Wolfram and Hart wouldn’t ultimately know about. He wanted to share as much as he could with his associates, but he didn’t dare risk the trip across town to warn them what the evening according to Angelus would entail. He knew he was going to be expected to kill. He knew he was going to be watched like he had never been watched before. He knew that whatever he did had to look authentic. Genuine enough to fool one of the most notorious vampires in history.

There would be real blood spilt tonight.

Spike decided the best course of action was to go through Caritas. It was the perfect middle-point and Lorne would be sure that Wright received the message. It was close enough to Wolfram and Hart to elude suspicion, but far enough away that tattling on him would be a pain for any bystanders.

Spike wanted to avoid his unfortunate blood ties as long as possible. While remaining close to Wolfram and Hart was a given, he couldn’t stand the idea of being confined to a lot that didn’t particularly care for him. He roamed as much as he could, delivered his message to the Host, and made several rounds of the law offices.

Angelus had yet to mention the Slayer, which failed to surprise. When and if Buffy was ever introduced to the picture, it would be well after Spike had completely regained his family’s confidence.

However, the Spike wasn’t willing to wait that long. He wasn’t willing to wait at all.

There were other things. Drusilla had forgiven and forgotten without much provocation, and was already pawing at him in ways that Spike would have leapt at just a few months earlier. Daddy and Grandmummy hadn’t seen to her as they used to, she claimed. Daddy was once again at a place where all he saw was Darla. All he saw, touched, and inhaled was Darla. Darla Darla Darla.

Funny. When Spike saw Darla again, he had to fight the urge to stake her. Out of loyalty.

Loyalty.

To a human.

There was more than something wrong with that picture.

Spike was resolved to evade Dru’s advances as long as possible, but he understood that he might become cornered. If he refused too passionately, suspicions would to arise. And it wasn’t that Spike hadn’t been known to indulge in the sins of the flesh—rather he was very known for it.

There was no clause that suggested he needed to be faithful to Buffy. They weren’t involved, after all. He had used Harmony for more of the same.

But he didn’t want to shag Dru. He didn’t want to use the face of a woman he had loved in order to save the one he loved now. For whatever reason, it seemed wrong.

_Wrong_. That was a word that had radically changed definition in his vocabulary over the past year. What was worse, he didn’t know who it would be wrong against. Using Drusilla didn’t bother him, per se. She sure as fuck hadn’t cared about using him.

No, he felt he would be betraying Buffy.

He had to find her. He was here now. He had reached his destination, and patience was running on empty.

He had to find her.

It was amazing what a man could find to miss. The icy looks. The irritated tones. The empty threats that followed the not-so-empty punches. Romancing the bloody stone. And then, there was the rest. The way she laughed with him when she thought he wouldn’t notice. The way they patrolled and chatted comfortably when no one else was around. The way she could open up just a bit—allow herself to become that much more human.

The scent of her tears against the cold night air. The shiver of her skin beneath his touch. The way he could frighten her without threats, even if she would never admit it. The way she could match him—word for word, move for move, in anything he did. Her butchering of the English language. Her liking for petty clichés. The hint of her mother’s perfume in the air, even if she used it sparingly. How she dropped her shoulder in battle without realizing it, but rarely lost the upper hand.

How she could be so cold. So distant. So perfect. So completely not his, and make him not even care.

Much.

The way she cared and tried. The way she simply was.

It had been too long, and he missed her.

Before this had happened, they had been on the road to something. Not friendship—not completely. But something beyond the revulsion. It was more than he would have ever expected. She had saved his life more times than he could count, and he had returned the favor even if she never noticed.

He missed the way she made him human.

The lower levels of Wolfram and Hart were much like those above, except less flashy. Not something one would see on the regular tour. Spike knew that if he was going to find Buffy, it would be here. The lawyers wouldn’t allow her to be taken off the property while she was still alive. And the fact that she was in Angelus’s hands put the likelihood of finding her anywhere but the lower levels very low. Angelus had a liking for large, open and dark spaces. He would want the traditionalism of a good old-fashioned torture chamber.

He would want it all.

Spike had no delusions of heroism. Not now. With his head still aching from the chip’s removal, there was no way he could battle his way out with the Slayer intact and get past all the personnel. When they got her out, it would be a team effort.

Spike wished it otherwise. The last thing he wanted was to overcrowd her, but he didn’t have much in the way of options.

The bowels of Wolfram and Hart potentially stretched for miles, and he couldn’t explore them without arousing the others’ suspicion. Especially since he’d just been back for a few hours. The others wouldn’t even tell him about Buffy. That she was alive, or even how she had allegedly kicked it. Anything. She hadn’t been mentioned once, and he would be damned before he jeopardized her by bringing her up himself.

His manhunt would have to be postponed. It was nearing time to leave.

Mustn’t keep an eager audience waiting.

Spike was ready to turn and head back to the upper levels when the scent hit him. It was faint, nearly imperceptible. For a moment, he suspected his overly-anxious mind was playing tricks on him.

But no. It was there. It was real.

Spike found himself overwhelmed, such that he nearly choked on tears that sprouted from nowhere. And there again. The mix of dirt, blood, the salty essence of skin…everything that made her Buffy. His Slayer. A scent he would follow across oceans. The very same that had brought him here. Everything. Spike choked pitifully, following his nose without realizing it. Following the corridor as far as her scent would carry him.

Followed until he encountered a door.

Buffy was on the other side of that door.

And he had run out of time.

The larger part of him wanted to blow it off. Sod the entire plan and all that bloody rot. He had found her. She was on the other side of that door, waiting for him. He wanted to race in, take her into his arms, and get the fuck out of Dodge. Now.

But the smaller, more reasonable voice within told him that it could never be that easy. He would be staked dead before reaching the first floor—if not by Angelus or one of his own, then definitely by a Wolfram and Hart associate.

Spike sputtered an indignant sob at that. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to be here, to be standing with only a door between them. To be dragged away because he had a role to play was bloody unfair. He needed her now. He needed to look at her, touch her, feel her…now.

To do so now would risk everything and not on the kind of odds he liked to wager.

“Hang on, love,” he whispered, his voice echoing to the halls around him. “I’ll be back.”

And he would. He would be back. Sooner rather than later.

Spike always kept his word. And nothing short of a stake to the heart could keep him away now.

*~*~*

“Yeah, thanks.”

Cordelia hung up the phone, collapsed against the front counter, and buried her head in her arms.

Wesley glanced up from his reading. “Good news?” he asked.

“Oh yeah. The best.” She sighed and shook her head. “We gotta get Zack on this, stat.”

The man in question bounded down the Hyperion staircase the next minute. “Gotta get Zack in on what?”

“The Host just called. Apparently, Spike has to go hunting tonight.”

A shadow crossed Wright’s face. “Hunting?”

“Every bit as ‘bite the humans’ as it sounds.”

“So his chip is out?”

“Out, and our resident vampire has himself a new set of teeth that are just hankerin’ for the chomping.” Cordelia sighed again, leveling her gaze with Wright. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” she said. “I mean, before Wolfram and Hart decided to get soul-happy, he was probably the last person in the world that I would trust, but—”

“Why is that?”

“Oh. Because the last time I saw Spike, he was sticking hot pokers into Angel. Trying to get some gem. A ring. The gem of…something.”

“Gem of Amara?” Wesley offered helpfully.

“Yup. That’s the one.”

“It exists? Dear me, I hadn’t thought—”

Wright held up a hand and Wesley immediately fell silent. “So,” he said, “Spike’s new leaf didn’t turn until…recently, is what you’re saying.”

“Way recently,” Cordelia agreed. “But he’s completely different from the vamp he was in the way back when. I didn’t even know him all that well, to be perfectly honest. Not when he was all _kill Buffyish_. I just knew that he was there, had some psycho girlfriend, and now he’s one of us.”

“You trust him.” It was more an observation than anything else.

At that, Cordelia paused with a frown. In all honesty, the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Not in the fullest sense. It wasn’t something that someone randomly shouted from the rooftops. “Yeah,” she finally said. “I do. I guess it’s a little premature, but since he’s been here, he’s really…well, not been Spike.”

“And you don’t think it’s an act?”

“Honey, I’m an actress. I’d know it if it was an act.”

Wesley coughed. He wisely ignored the look he earned in turn.

Cordelia rolled her eyes and turned back to Wright. “You’re not suddenly thinking Spike’s not one of us, are you?”

“No,” Wright said. “No, it’s not that. I’ve…for reasons beyond me, Spike and I… We’ve come to an understanding.”

“You’ve…become friends?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied. “I just—”

“You know, it’s okay if you have. He’s a pretty cool guy, once you get passed the retro ‘Oh dear god, did someone trap me in the 80s’ look.” Cordelia grinned. “You wouldn’t be the first to warm up to a vamp. Trust me. Been there, most definitely done that.”

Wright’s face fell and Cordelia realized she had stumbled upon a sore spot. “I…” he said softly. “I don’t befriend vamps. Doesn’t matter about the…conditions.”

Wesley grunted.

“Don’t go getting righteous on me,” Wright snapped at him. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Wesley looked affronted, and his hands came up. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” Wright shook his head and combed pathways through his brown hair. “God…the sooner this is over, the better. What did the Host say? Anything he wants us to do in particular?”

“Yeah.” Cordelia glanced down, unwilling to concede defeat that easily. Whatever Wright was hiding would come out eventually. Scars hurt—she knew this as well as anyone else—but picking at the scabs didn’t do a damn thing to help. “Spike’s said that he’s going to have to…well…bite…a few…people.”

A very still beat settled through the Hyperion.

It didn’t last.

“WHAT?!”

“He wants you to follow,” she added. “Angelus is going to be there…watching him. I guess it’s some sort of initiation. He’s told the Host that he’s not going to kill anyone. That he doesn’t want to, and I think we need to trust him on this. But he’s going to be biting people and he’ll need you there to help get them medical attention. Stat.”

“Why me?”

“A demon hunter seems logical,” Wesley observed. “Especially one with a grudge.”

“And if they see me?”

Cordelia shrugged. “You’re just gonna have to be careful.”

Wright had broken into a pace across the lobby, shaking his head and muttering to himself. “No. No, no, no, no. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”

“Neither does he.”

Wright stopped at that, eyes blazing. “How the fuck can we know that? Really? Spike’s—”

“A vampire. I think we got that by now.” Cordelia sighed and stepped forward. “He’s also one of us. He’s in it for her.”

“How do we know he wasn’t in it for the chip? How do we really know?”

“Because he would’ve agreed to Darla’s proposal in Sunnydale,” Wesley reminded him rationally. “Cordy’s right. Spike cares far too deeply about Buffy to do anything to endanger her…and that includes hurting others. He knows he’d lose our support if word was confirmed that he was feeding again.” He stilled a moment. “You know this, Zack. You were here when McDonald told him that—”

Wright held up a hand, seeming to calm. Reason drifted slowly back into his eyes. “I know. I know. I was arguing this point earlier…I just…” Another long breath. “I don’t like it.”

“Neither does he,” Cordelia said softly. “Apparently, he got really righteous at Caritas. Started ranting about how it was too much pressure for someone who doesn’t know, and, I seriously quote, ‘what the bloody hell’ he’s doing, and where the line is.” She waited for Wright to look at her before continuing. “He’s just as afraid of his potential to slip up as we are.”

That seemed to settle it on some unspoken terrain. Wright exhaled deeply and nodded. “I don’t know how he expects me to help,” he said. “I’ll go. Of course I’ll go…but even…what if we don’t make it in time?”

“You’ll make it.”

“And Darla?”

Cordelia frowned. That was the first direct reference he had made about the vampire that had done him wrong. The past two days had been colored with hints, but Zack was a very private person. But she didn’t think he had always been.

“He didn’t mention Darla,” she said after a moment, “but I’m guessing that you have free reign.”

The shadow fell across Wright’s face. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Just yesterday, he was pissed at the idea of…no. For Buffy’s sake.”

“I don’t think it would matter, personally,” Wesley said. “If you’re there and not at Spike’s side. From what I gathered of your agreement last night, he didn’t want you to attack because of your established relationship.”

“No good. Angelus thinks that I’m a vamp groupie.”

Cordelia quirked an eyebrow. “You made him think you were a vamp groupie?”

Wright grinned. “I did at that. And I’m a damn good actor, if I don’t say so myself.”

“I’ll bet,” she replied with a smirk. Then she tilted her head. “You know, you should really do that more often.”

“Do what? Act?”

“No, smile. I don’t think I’ve seen you really smile since you got here.”

He shrugged. “Haven’t had much reason to before.”

“I like it. Keep it up.” Before he could offer another reply, Cordelia turned sharply to Wesley, who was staring at her blankly. “So, what’s the game plan? You both gonna tackle the ‘patrolling Spike’ front, or—”

“It’s not a good idea to advertise that I’m a demon hunter,” Wright said. “Especially not now. As much as it really pains me to admit it, Spike was right last night. If I establish that I’m very much working with you guys, it’ll raise suspicion and get him staked and her killed. There’s no way that’s going to work.”

“You can say that you were using him because you knew who he was.” Cordelia shrugged. “It wouldn’t be too far from the truth, pre-us.”

“I’d already thought about that. Seems most plausible, but still too early.” Zack shook his head, glancing to Wesley again. “If we follow, I’m gonna have to take you with me. That way any diversion we cause can be your choice. Don’t worry, old man. I won’t let them—”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Wes grumbled. Then paused. “Old? Do I look old?” He turned to Cordelia. “I don’t look old, do I? I certainly don’t think so. Why, I’ve gotten carded at several of the bars Gunn drags me to. Point of fact—”

Cordy cleared her throat, unable to banish the smile from her face. “Earth to Wes. Slightly on the less of the importance-o-meter right now.”

“But—”

Wright cleared his throat, too. “I take it back. Are you coming or not?”

“Of course.” Wesley sighed and removed his glasses. “If it will help. I am prepared to deal with Angelus if I must. Anything right now would be useful. Right now, we at least know that Buffy is all right.”

Zack pursed his lips worriedly. “I don’t understand that,” he said. “Despite everything… From what I’ve read about the Order, particularly Angelus, it seems that he would’ve tired of her by now.”

“If she was anyone else, he likely would have,” Wes agreed. “But Buffy is a slayer. Not only that, she is a slayer that he had a lengthy relationship with. And even if the novelty of abusing her now wears off, she might have some higher importance to Wolfram and Hart that is keeping her protected.”

Wright thought about that for a long moment, then shook his head. “I don’t see any of them being the type to uphold contracts. Especially where these matters are concerned. From what I’ve read on Angelus—and what I know of Darla—there are too many opportunities opened to them. What’s to stop them from siring her and causing the town that much more damage? I don’t get it.”

Wesley chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry about them siring anyone. It would not be beneficial in the slightest.”

“Why not?”

“Because the last time a slayer was sired, she laid waste to her maker, his childer, and who-knows-how-many-other-vampires before she was finally defeated. That was centuries ago.” When it didn’t appear that Wright was following, he shook his head and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Siring a slayer is essentially signing a death warrant. They’re damn near impossible to kill, with slayer strength in addition to demonic attributes, and by the time it’s over, angry as hell with the one who made her.”

“Angel explained this to us a long time ago,” Cordelia said, nodding. “If Slayers didn’t keep their souls, then all vampires would wanna turn them. Being a sire already gives you a certain measure of power—if you were the sire of a soulless slayer, you’d be damn near invincible.”

“Which is why the Powers That Be deemed it impossible,” Wesley concluded. “To even the odds. I suppose they consider it poetic justice. If a vampire is fool enough to sire a slayer, he’ll most assuredly get what he deserves when she wakes.”

Wright took a long minute, blinking. “So we don’t have to worry about that.”

“No,” Wes replied.

“Nadda,” Cordelia confirmed.

“Zilch,” Gunn said, slamming the door to the lobby shut behind him.

Cordy jumped and whirled around. “Where the hell did you come from?”

”Umm, the outside?” He merely grinned unashamedly and shrugged. “Ya’ll are humorless. So, what’d I miss?”

Wright and Wesley’s eyes met, and they broke for the weapons closet together. They were on their way for the door in a matter of seconds.

“Come on, Charlie,” Zack said with a grin, patting the other man on the shoulder as they headed out. “We’re goin’ out for a spot.”

“A huh?”

Cordelia just shook her head and gestured after them. “Just go. They’ll explain.”

“Right.” Gunn turned to follow with a frown. Then whacked Zack upside the head. “And don’t call me Charlie. God, you and Spike, I swear…”

Wright merely smiled and shook his head, turning to wink at Cordelia. “Watch the girls for me, would you?”

“Sure.”

“And don’t let them get in trouble.”

She waved dismissively. “Trouble? Around here? Psh. What could…” She stopped with a frown, eyes wide. “God, I almost said it. Right. Big no to trouble. We’ll stay here and watch the very safe television, order some very safe pizza, and play a very safe game of Scrabble.”

“Wouldn’t call that safe,” Zack replied. “You don’t know how competitive Nikki can get.”

“Nikki?” a thoroughly confused Gunn asked.

“Again, we’ll explain.”

“Bye, Cordy!” Wes called.

“Bye! Don’t get killed!”

Wright grinned. “Words to live by.”

*~*~*

Over the expanse of his long life, Spike had never seen himself in this position.

The sensation of déjà vu was too much for him—or nearly, as one might speculate. For an hour, he had followed them. Been one of them. Watched as Angelus slaughtered who he liked—some for food, most for pleasure. Watched him dance with Darla under the streetlights. There was so much blood. Everywhere. It was intoxicating.

_Wrong._

He wanted so desperately to ignore that voice, but it was too persistent. It was wrong, and what’s more, he knew it.

He felt it.

They had made beautiful havoc of downtown Los Angeles. The four—rather three—of them. He had watched from a distance, feigned participation when they glanced his way. It disgusted him, but that didn’t mean rot for difference. It was simply that. The face of what he had become. Not for anyone. Not even for Buffy—not in the end. Spike. The Slayer of Slayers—William the Fucking Bloody—reduced to this. To caring.

To caring so much that he had to avert his eyes when Angelus sank his teeth into another hapless victim. He had to clench his fists to stop himself from throwing Darla off the single mother heading to her car after a long night’s shift at some cheap diner. Had to flash Drusilla a smile when she danced over to him with a bloodstained mouth and asked if she had earned a cookie. He hated them for being what they were, and worse, hated himself for hating them in the first place.

He had never felt so thoroughly torn. And he hated them for it.

“My William is not hungry?” Drusilla asked him, pouting as she rubbed his stomach, curled into his side. “I can feel you, pet. Tummy’s growling at me. Think it will feast on my hand lest we find you something better.”

Of-fucking-course.

“Spike!” Angelus exclaimed loudly, thumping him on the back. “M’boy. What’s wrong? Too fresh for you? I’m sure we can make a pit stop at the blood bank if you really find it necessary. Though I must say, I’m disappointed. Nearly a century of famine and I dove right in. You’ve been on your diet for…what? A year?”

“I must say,” Darla cooed, strolling up to him and licking idly at her fingers. “You are quite a picture from the loud, obnoxious thing I remember. Actually, Angelus, I think I prefer our Spike this way. Submissive. Perhaps we—”

“Just leveling the playing field, mate,” Spike said, though his thoughts were elsewhere. If it wasn’t bad enough that every turn tugged on his unwanted conscience, but he couldn’t keep himself from thinking of the girl he had left behind. For this.

She was waiting for him, and he was out with those who had wronged her.

Spike closed his eyes and blinked to awareness immediately.

He couldn’t afford to sacrifice his footing.

“Leveling the playing field?” Angelus repeated, arching an eyebrow. “Interesting. And here I thought you were simply sitting on your ass.”

“You must admit, Spike,” Darla added, “that in the past, you’ve been more a leveler rather than waiting for it to happen.”

“Hush, Grandmum,” Drusilla cooed, burying her face in his shoulder. “My dearest is simply working up to his goodies. He’s been all alone for too long. Wandering through the night with no one to answer his call.”

“Aww, poor baby.” Angelus snickered. “Does somebody need a hug?”

“So off, you righteous wanker.” In all honesty, he didn’t know what he would do. The idea of taking one of these people, the very same that he shouldn’t care about, made his stomach churn.

These people who had homes and families. Husbands, wives, children, parents, brothers, sisters, friends, lovers…

_One little nibble won’t hurt anyone._

Spike sighed. When had life become so damn complicated?

Three words. Buffy Anne Summers.

There. He selected the best looking of the lot. The healthiest. The one chit that looked like she could stand for a little bloodletting. And from there, it was instinct. He didn’t know how it happened. Any of it. From one minute standing on the sidelines, watching everything pass before him, to pursuing his intended into some dark alley.

He reverted to game face and inhaled deeply…searching…

The woman was trembling. A wreck. Her eyes were fixated on his face in horror, and she spluttered a string of burdened pleas and bargains for her life. He wasn’t listening, too entranced by the picture she presented. There was fear. Real fear. He hadn’t smelled true fear in a long time. A man half-starved with self-induced famine, and she was practically begging for it.

God. For that moment, he wanted to. Wanted to bugger it all and sink his fangs in her throat. Remind himself of the taste of blood. Real blood. Direct from the sodding source. Buffy’s image flittered in and out of his mind but refused to solidify. What mattered was there was reason here. There was purpose. And if he neared just a bit more…

“Please!” the girl whimpered, throat scratchy and rumbly with all sorts of mousy squeaks. “P-p-please d-d-don’t hurt m-m-m-me. Take whatever y-y-you need. I have money. Just p-pl-please don’t hurt—”

Something nagging his insides. Spike was too entranced with the scent of raw fear to notice. He had her by the shoulders and pressed flush against some building side. He nuzzled her throat, reveling in the throbbing pulse that beckoned his fangs to her. Intoxicating.

Then something happened.

In later days, he wouldn’t know if the guilt or the smell hit him first. He speculated it was the guilt but there was every chance that was wishful thinking. Just that at one precise moment, everything came reeling back. Buffy’s face fought through his bloodlust, reminded him of his purpose. What he was here doing. What he needed to portray in the face of danger. His reason. His bloody meaning.

He became aware of a familiar scent next. Actually, three familiar scents. His friends from Angel Investigations were close. Close to the point that they were probably watching him.

Spike reckoned if he actually went through with it, he’d earned whatever punishment they gave.

He didn’t. It was bad enough that he thought about it.

It was bad enough that he lamented thinking about it.

Life was one vicious fucking cycle.

He didn’t make a move to withdraw. Instead, he lowered his mouth even further. Such to the point where his bumpies ground against her in effort to avoid the throbbing temptation of her pulse. Then his lips were at her ear. “Shh, pet,” he murmured. “I’m not gonna hurt you, all right?”

There was a pause at that. “Wh…what?”

“It’s gonna sting a little. But I promise I’m not gonna kill you. I’m not even gonna rob you. Your goods are safe as bloody houses.” The hands that had previously kept her still were now rubbing circular caresses into her shoulder, but at that she seemed to tense more. He frowned until he realized her assumption, and had to fight the temptation to roll his eyes. “And no, I’m not gonna do _that,_ either. Just close your eyes, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

“But—”

“Three blokes’ll be here in a sec. Good guys. You get me? They’ll take care of you. Don’t fight ’em.”

“I—”

An intrusive scent suddenly perturbed the alleyway.

“Well, Spike,” Angelus drawled, bored. “You actually gonna do it or have you taken to romancing your dinner before you make the kill?”

Spike tensed but relaxed just as easily. He didn’t move. “Just make it look real, pet,” he whispered, voice degrees lower. “And all will be fine. If you don’t, this chap’ll do you and me in. You don’t want that, do you?”

She shook her head rapidly. The hot sting of her tears collided with his cheek and served to make him feel worse than he already did. But they were through with negotiations. He had told her all that he could. The rest was up to her.

At first bite, though, Spike nearly buckled with pleasure. The first taste of human blood from the source in over a year. It felt so damn good. He pressed her against the wall with more intent, ignoring her dying wails and pleas that seemed to melt into nowhere. He drank and he drank fully. Unabashed. And it was good.

Too good.

When he felt her heartbeat begin to slow, he pulled away and let her fall to the ground without so much as a second glance. He snickered disinterestedly before pivoting back to Angelus, arching a brow. “Right then,” he said, overwhelmed and more than a little buzzed. “Let’s off, shall we?”

For the look on Angelus’s face, the entire ordeal was almost worth it.

Almost.

It continued like that for what seemed like hours. Watching. Tearing. Destroying. Killing without killing. Confronting many terrified pulsers who looked him in the eye and realized that what he said was true—others that refused to listen to reason. Those he let go without a struggle. Well, enough of a struggle to appease those watching him, but not a real struggle. There were times when he thought Angelus’s eyes narrowed a bit too much for his own good, but his action was never questioned. Drusilla was pleased. Darla was apathetic. And that was, currently, all that mattered.

Only that his thoughts were with someone else, and being so near her without seeing her was slowly driving him out of his mind.

He couldn’t stay out here long. He had to get away.

To see her.

If only once.

*~*~*

“Hospital checked,” Gunn reported as he strolled over to Zack and Wesley. They were hovering over the third person that Spike had allegedly killed that night. A small teenager who looked much too pale for her own good. “The chick I dropped off should be fine.”

“We better check her in, too,” Wesley decided, lifting the girl into his embrace. “I believe he took enough to make it look realistic, but still it was too much to my liking.”

“Everything tonight’s too much to my liking,” Wright muttered.

Wesley nodded at him gravely but did not reply. Instead, he turned back to Gunn and deposited the girl in his arms. “Did you see them on your way back?” he asked softly.

“Yeah. And let me tell you, man, not a pretty picture.”

“Where are we gonna be needed next?” Wright demanded.

“I don’t know. Spike wasn’t there.”

“Wasn’t there?”

Gunn shrugged. “Not that I saw. And Angelus was getting pretty pissy about it. Seems he snuck off about a half hour ago. Think our boy’s afraid of a little competition?”

“That or something else.”

Wright frowned. He didn’t like this one bit. “I don’t get it. It’s risking too much to… Where would he have gone?”

*~*~*

Someone was nearing.

Buffy realized this dimly but it failed to click. Somewhere, this had become routine. Habit. Had she been here long enough to form habit? It sure seemed as such. She didn’t know. Her eyes were too tired from trying to keep them open, her arms strained with too much exertion and the innate but denied need to find rest. She had been hanging for what seemed like forever.

There might as well be no skin there, for all they had done.

And more. Always coming back for more. She wondered if she would feel it this time. Last time hadn’t hurt nearly as bad. Perhaps her nerves were wearing away one by one. Perhaps…

Someone was nearing. A vampiric someone. Her slayer senses were still there, still tingling in her gut. Lately it seemed to be an Angelus alarm, warning her of his approach.

Someone was nearing. God, she hoped it didn’t hurt this time.

Someone was there.

There. Breathing. Harshly. And then murmuring her name.

“Oh god…”

_That voice._ She knew that voice. It haunted her dreams—something that no longer surprised her. She was used to him being in those visions. Used to dreaming up the one person that shouldn’t come. Used to seeing him—though for no reason whatever—only to have him tell her the same.

She was dreaming again. Only she wasn’t. This was real.

“Oh Buffy…”

And she knew that voice.

That was all it took. She glanced up, and her pained eyes went wide with astonishment. Buffy had thought herself bankrupt of surprise. But no. It was there. There, and burning with as much fervor as ever.

It wasn’t Angelus.


	23. Sweet Temptation

The moment stretched too long. He was paralyzed. Absolutely paralyzed.

There she was. His reason for being. His light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Waiting for him. She beckoned him without saying a word, and he knew before he started that he was battling a lost cause.

There was no way he could resist this. It had been foolish to think otherwise.

A hand clamped his shoulder before he could act. Wright blinked slowly and realized he had already taken the first steps forward. The crossbow in grasp was slowly making its way to aim. Wanting, seeking, needing a target. A reason. A case to end all others. He had a clear shot. A good, clear shot, and he wanted to take it.

“No,” Wesley said, as though reading his mind.

Wright was too far gone to listen. To hear anything at all. His gaze remained fixated on the curtain of blonde hair. The blood soaking her hands offset the cream of her skin. He needed to end it. Never had anything been clearer since the day he’d come home for the last time.

He needed to end it.

That day. That horrible day.

_Sitting in the car on the way home from the grocery store. Rosalie glances up, chocolate from the forbidden candy bar he had given her smeared all over her mouth. She had always looked more like Amber than him. His little girl._

_Her eyes. Cobalt cylinders of truth and understanding. “Daddy,” she says in a voice that wasn’t entirely hers. “Something’s the matter with Mommy.”_

Pain was a funny thing. There were mornings when he didn’t know what the point was in going on. He watched Rosalie grow older each day, her eyes older than she would ever be. It was always there—this belief that what he did was for her. Ridding the world of its filth, leaving it a better place for his daughter.

He was only one man, and they kept coming.

Darla was the reason. She was the key to unleashing his suffering. She had made him what he was today. She had molded and turned him into Zachary Wright: Demon Hunter. There were days when he hated himself. For what he was. Who he was. What he had allowed himself to become. How he couldn’t stop.

Perhaps, just perhaps, if he killed the reason—if he cut off everything at the source—he would be able to move on. He would know some sort of peace.

Perhaps.

It was worth a try.

It was worth everything.

“No.”

Wesley again. The man’s eyes were set with understanding. Yes, the Watcher knew well. He had heard the story in its much abbreviated form two years earlier. Wesley knew that Darla was the reason behind his crusade. He knew that whatever hope of happiness Zack had once possessed now lay buried under something ugly and raw and so completely out of form that it might as well be nonexistent.

He knew. But he knew nothing of how deep that trench was dug. How impossible it was to climb out, unless someone threw him some rope.

Wright frowned and his jaw hardened. He didn’t need rope. All he needed was a clear shot.

“Zack,” Wesley said, “if you do this now, Spike will never forgive you.”

Oh yes. The voice of reason. Risk the alliance of a vampire. Of one of them.

“What?” Gunn demanded roughly. “What’s going on?”

Neither answered him.

“You don’t get it, Wes,” Wright replied, keeping his aim trained with expertise that came only with experience. “You don’t—”

“I know what she did to you was unforgivable.”

“Unforgivable. What a way to butter it up.”

“But you cannot indulge your vengeance now. It could kill Buffy.”

That lent him pause. Wright glanced up slowly, reasoning overwhelming him once more.

Wesley’s grip on his weapon tightened. “I know,” he said softly. “I believe Spike’s a man of his word. He won’t let her get away with what she did. But you cannot succumb to temptation now.”

“And once again,” Gunn muttered, “I’m in the dark. What the hell are you—”

“Darla will die,” Wright stated, lowering his weapon. He might as well have been reciting the pledge of allegiance for all the feeling he put behind it. Not a question—a cold fact. Darla would die. He wanted it known.

“Yes,” Wesley agreed. “Yes, she will.”

There was a long, dramatic pause. Zack finally sighed and shook his head. “This is too much,” he murmured. “Stopping because it might endanger the position of a vampire—”

“Who has come to be your friend, whether you want to admit it or not.”

“We’re not friends.”

“Yes you are. Anyone that has seen you interact would say the same.”

Wright and Wes both looked to Gunn at that.

Gunn’s hands came up and he shook his head. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’ve only just started to catch up. You people really need to keep your personnel on the up better than this.”

Wright frowned and looked away. “All right. Fine. So the guy’s not as…we’re not friends, and we never will be. Vampires are—”

“Zack, it’s all right to be his friend,” Wesley said. “Trust me. I grew up around that…believing that. My father was a Watcher, and I have it on good authority that he is less than pleased with my current occupation. But I’ve lived my life on the understanding that vampires are evil. And look at me. Working for one.”

“Don’t really think you can say you’re working for Angel anymore,” Gunn observed.

“If not one, then the other,” Wes replied with a shrug. “There are always exceptions. I merely figured that Angel was the only one. I was wrong. Spike is—for whatever reason—he is the way he is. You saw him tonight. Even when temptation was at its greatest, he managed to withhold.”

“Only we don’t know where he is now,” Wright grumbled.

“I think he went back to Wolfram and Hart.” Gunn earned a shrug for that theory, and he returned it with just the same. “Seems most likely to me. Or is off getting drunk off his scrawny, pale, undead ass.”

Zack grinned in spite of himself. “Spent a lot of time looking at his ass, have you?”

“No, just speculating.” Gunn winced. “That so did not come out right. I am not gay. Very much not—”

“Uh huh.”

“Is Nikki seeing anyone?”

That was enough. The smile on Wright’s face faded into a frown. “I think I liked you better when you were gay.”

“I’m serious! She’s a fiery little package, if I remember right. Think you might be good enough to introduce me all formal like when we get back?”

There was a long moment’s pause.

“Wes,” Wright said, pivoting to his friend. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“But…Spike…”

“Is gone. He gets in trouble, he’ll have to deal with it.” He leveled his eyes with Gunn’s, then grinned. “Besides, I think it’s time we went back. Actually had a night to ourselves.”

“You are new in town.” Gunn chuckled. “Night to ourselves? No such thing ‘round these parts.”

“Well,” Zack retorted, grinning. “Guess we’ll have to see about changing that, won’t we?”

*~*~*

Cordelia leaned over the open refrigerator, reviewed its contents, then referred to her yellow notepad. Not time yet for a trip to the butcher, but their resident vampire—make that both of them—might prefer something fresher when he returned. She didn’t know when to expect Spike back, but it would be better to be prepared. After all, a hungry vampire was an irritable vampire. Especially if said vampire was currently running around all dechipped.

Not that she didn’t have every faith in Spike. For whatever reason, she knew she could trust him, and that alone was a frightening revelation.

All in a day’s work.

“‘So Cordy, how did you spend your Friday night?’” she asked herself in a roughly butch voice. Then, not missing a beat, turned around to answer. “‘Oh, you know. Entered time sheets, answered some email, made sure the boss’s blood supply was stocked. The usual.’”

She smiled and turned her attention turned to her writing once more, checking the supplies they would need next time Wesley or Gunn made an inventory run. Never had she thought that she would be happy to spend a Friday night in a creepy hotel. And yet, despite how dreary everything was, she was oddly satisfied. As though there was no other place that she would rather be.

Of course, it was a truth universally acknowledged that when one reaches any level of complacency, everything would fall to shit the next minute. Cordelia had just shut the refrigerator when the first wave came roaring down, sending her against the wall with an uninhibited wail of pain.

And oh god, she felt it all. Everything there was to feel. The tugging at her heartstrings that pulled her into an endless downward spiral. Anger—no—fury. Fury and more sadness than she had ever felt. The essential feel of having everything that she had ever regarded as precious ripped from her, leaving her cold, naked, and in the middle of a winter harvest.

“Oh god,” Cordelia choked, reaching for her throat.

All melted into a world of imagery. And she saw.

Saw.

And screamed.

*~*~*

Every nerve in his being was alight. His throat scratched with the suddenly innate need to breathe. To gasp. To burst into tears. He had never known such raw…anything. It touched him. Burned him. Buried him alive.

“Oh…god…” he gasped.

She was hanging there. Hanging there and had been for days. There was a strain in her arms from the chains attached to the ceiling, and he saw it even through layers of caked blood and grime. Her feet were made the same—shackled to chains that protruded from the floor. She was completely naked, and her once-perfect skin was a patchwork quilt of scars and burns.

She looked dead. If she had not opened her eyes, he would have thought it so.

And he couldn’t help himself. Spike covered the space between them before another beat could pass. He didn’t know what to do—if there was anything to do. He met her pained eyes and realized without a word that she, while recognizing him, did not believe him to be real.

“God, Buffy,” he choked. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes were still unfocused and bleary. She blinked several times before she finally saw him. Really saw him. Saw him and understood.

“Spike?” she breathed.

It pained him to hear her. Hear the raw abuse sustained behind her voice. She looked unreal. He _felt_ unreal. Finally having her skin under his hands after too many nights wasted worrying when he could have been trying to help her. Earlier, when he stood outside this room and knew she was on the other side, and had done nothing. Because of the others. Spike was quite sure he had never hated himself as richly as he did at that moment.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he replied softly, caressing her cheek as gently as he could. Any hesitation at using a term of endearment had left him—possibly forever. He couldn’t help himself if he tried. “’It’s me. I’m here.”

Buffy was looking at him with eyes that did not belong to her. As though she had known all along that it would be him, and that was impossible. A choked sob sounded through her lips, and she leaned forward. Then her breath was fanning his ear, and she murmured in a low tone, “Please…don’t make it hurt too much.”

Her request took him aback and he pulled away to study her before realizing what she meant. And it made his cold blood boil. “No, you don’t understand,” he said firmly. “God, Buffy, I’m not here to… I’d never hurt you, pet. You get me? I’d never hurt you. I’m here to help. Only here to help. Buffy? Baby, do you hear me?”

The Slayer blinked at him wearily. Staring with whatever life was left behind such empty pools of once brilliant light. He watched as she was slowly filled with comprehension. And her eyes filled with tears. “You’re here?”

The words nearly broke him, but he nodded. “That’s right. I’m here.”

“Spike…”

For a minute, he was sure he was dreaming. Never in a thousand years, despite the outcome of all this, had he thought she would say his name like that.

“Spike. Oh god, are you real?”

That was it. The relief in her voice bid him any reservation aside, and he was covering her face with feather light kisses before he could help himself, his tears mingling with hers. “I’m here, love. I’m here. I’m here to help. Here to get you out.”

“Angelus—”

“He’s out. He and the others. They’re gone.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled—taking in the essence that was Buffy. Forced there beneath the blood and dirt. The hinted scent of her tears from how-many-days ago. God, he hated himself. Though there was no reason to suggest it, he felt the burden of blame weighing down on his shoulders.

“You’re real?” she murmured again.

“I’m real, love. I bloody well promise you.”

His knees nearly buckled when she felt her abused lips caressing his throat. It had to be a dream. There was no way she would reciprocate his affections—now or ever. Had to be a dream. But god, it felt real.

“You’ve said you’re real before,” she said. Okay, not making sense, but he figured he would go with it. “And then…you’ve left me. And he’s come back.”

A cold shiver ran up his spine. Spike pulled back and cupped her face in his hands, meeting her eyes. “I promise you,” he said again, thumbs rubbing comforting circles in her cheeks. “I’m real. I’m real and I’m not leaving you.” His fingers trailed down her throat and traced her arms, fury overwhelming him on levels he was, in many ways, still unaccustomed to. “God…”

“He’s…”

“He’s gone, sweets.”

Her eyes clouded with tears. “He’s hurt me so much, Spike.”

He nodded, whispering another kiss against her lips. “I know.”

“Why?”

That was a bloody good question, and he trembled at the implication. No one deserved what had been done to her. The pure, relentless monstrosity behind every touch. He had no answer for her. Nothing to satisfy her curiosity and his phases of self-loathing and regret.

The most obvious answer remained that Angelus was a monster by nature. But that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Not if it tarnished the name of her precious Angel.

And he would not upset her. Not like this.

“I don’t know,” he replied, nuzzling her throat delicately. Her pulse throbbed against his mouth, and unlike before, his demon’s intention was far from sinking his fangs into her skin. Far from. More, the sound of her heartbeat ringing in his ears served as the most blessed reassurance he could have asked for. She was alive. She was really alive. And she was here. “I’m gonna get you out, love. I swear to you. I—”

“No…that’s not…” Buffy took a deep breath and groaned when his lips began dancing up and down her throat. He didn’t know if she was reacting to him or the feel of something that elicited pleasure instead of pain, and for the moment, he didn’t care. The taste of her, tarnished or not, was more than he had ever hoped to touch. His own slice of Heaven. “Spike…why did…why you?”

Oh.

At that, Spike pulled back, reveling in the whimper of protest she indulged at the loss of his mouth.

There was no way he could answer that question without upsetting her. Despite however much she seemed to like him in the moment, he understood that it was the product of disassociation. When she was well again, when she came to her senses, she would likely stake him for touching her at all, least of all in this manner.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I came. I couldn’t let them have you.”

“You hate me,” she whimpered, arching her throat. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought she wanted him to resume.

“No, baby. I don’t. I…” What could he possibly say that would assure her without terrifying her? His hands were still at her arms, massaging her abused skin. “I don’t. You gotta believe that.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He fisted the material holding her up, determined to pull her free and have that be the end of it. Get her as far from here as possible, damned to his previous reservations. There was no way he would leave her with those monsters. Not with what they had done to her. “Come on, love. We’re going for a walk.”

“Spike—”

“Right. You called my bluff. I’ll carry you. Wrap you up in my nice warm duster, and get you the hell out of here. Come on. This might sting a minute. Wish I could—”

“Won’t work.”

He blinked. “What?”

“These…” She wiggled her arm and made the chains rattle. “These can’t be…enchanted. Lindsey…said…”

“Lindsey? The lawyer?” Spike cupped her face again and brought their eyes level. “Did that wanker touch you? Did he—”

“No.”

Well, that was some relief. Some. Very little. Hardly proper to call it relief, but he did anyway.

“Enchanted.” She coughed again, leaning into his hands. “He said…bindings are…”

“The bindings are enchanted?”

She nodded pitifully.

He was almost afraid to ask. “Who…who has access?”

“Angelus,” she replied. Distant, as though accepting her fate. It made his dead veins charge with heated energy. “He…no one else.”

Spike nodded, caressing her brow with his lips again. Inwardly, he was torn apart. If Angelus was the sole proprietor controlling her freedom, getting her loose was not going to be simple. In his version of this, he would storm in, yank Buffy free by any means necessary, and carry her into the proverbial sunset on an equally proverbial white stallion. On some level, though, he had known it would be more complicated than that.

But it hurt. It hurt so much to look at her and know he would leave her no better off. Not until he knew how to snatch Angelus’s control away.

He needed access. He needed the key. And he needed it now.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she asked softly. As though she had read the resignation on his face and automatically assumed the worst to come of it. Her words made his heart break all over again. “God, Spike, please don’t leave me. You said you were real. You promised me. You said—”

He silenced her with another kiss—a little more presumptive this time, tasting, and a tad lustful. And still, she responded with enthusiasm, even zeal. He had to again remind himself that in this state, she would likely respond to a trained chimp and not to read too much into it. His mind was already on the fast track to wedding marches and honeymoon arrangements. Poncy sod.

“I’m really, baby,” he promised her. “Very, very real.”

“You were real before.”

At that, he quirked an eyebrow and decided to ask. “Before?”

“When you were here…” Tears were flooding her eyes again. “You were here, and—”

“I was here?”

She nodded.

Spike stared at her in bewilderment. She had dreamt of him. She had dreamt of him coming for her, being here for her like he was now. She had known he was…and despite everything, she had not allowed herself to believe.

If he left her now, she might dismiss everything as another delusion. He couldn’t stand it were such the case. He knew he couldn’t.

Thus, he was determined to make it as real as possible.

Spike took her mouth again with feverish intent, pouring the range of his very confused, very agitated but sound emotions into his kiss. Making sure that she knew it was him—that she was no longer alone. That he was here now, and if it killed him, he would make sure that she got out.

“I have people,” he murmured when he pulled away. “People who are helping me. Angel’s old pals and the like. Cordy and Wes. You remember them, love?”

Buffy blinked dazedly. When she realized she had been addressed, she offered a bemused nod. He smiled, kissed her again, and caressed her face.

“Wes,” she said after a minute. “And Cordy.”

Spike decided to take her response as a yes. One couldn’t expect too much of her more than that. “Right. They’re in on it. Helping me with everything they can. And there’s this bloke…this demon hunter bloke. He’s in on it, too. A merry band dedicated to getting you out.”

“You’re leaving me.”

“No, I’m—”

Her face began to crumble again, and the sight was enough to nearly convince him to set a camp here at her beck and call. But no. That would only damn her and himself. She would understand someday; she had to. “If your stupid sod of an ex finds me here, love, he’s gonna be right pissed. Might off the both of us.”

Tears were rolling down her cheeks again, and he flinched with her as fresh salt touched open wounds. He kept caressing her, but there was little he could do to offer her comfort.

Aside make the personal revelation that Angelus was going to pay with blood for what he had done.

“Please,” he murmured. “Please don’t think for a minute that I wanna leave you. Do you have any idea what I went through to get here? To be…” He trailed off helplessly. “There’s nowhere else I wanna be. Now or ever. I don’t want to…but I’ll be back, baby. I promise.”

“Yes,” she agreed solemnly. “You will be. You always come back. But it never changes.”

“Only I’m real this time, Buffy.” He laid a hand over her chest, reveling in the gentle hum of her heartbeat against his skin. Verification there. It was as precious to him as blood. “Can’t you feel me?”

She nodded, though he saw it in her eyes. She still didn’t believe.

“What else can I do, pet?”

“Don’t go.”

If only.

“I have to. Just for a little while. But I’m coming back, I—”

Her eyes drifted shut in defeat. He felt it rolling off her, and hated himself for it all the more. “Don’t,” she requested softly.

“If I could, baby, you don’t understand. I—”

“Just make the pain go away.”

Spike nodded as though he understood. That was better than flat out denial of his existence. He expelled a deep breath and neared to whisper a kiss over her brow. “How?" he asked. “How can I…?”

Buffy closed her eyes and mewled. “Just…” Another breath. “If you’re not real…”

One step forward, two steps back.

“I am, love. What’ll it take to—”

“If you’re not real…then…” There was a brave beat. “Please…touch me.”

Spike froze. She couldn’t be asking what he thought she was asking. It simply was unfeasible. That she would ever see him like that, regardless of whether she thought he was actually there.

 “Where, pet?” He skimmed her brow with his lips. “Where does it hurt?”

Buffy’s eyes opened then and took him completely aback. There was nothing uncertain behind that gaze. It was fierce, intent, and made his lungs seize. This was real. This was very, very real. It was real, and she was serious. In some dreamlike state, the Slayer wanted him. Wanted him. Spike. She had said his name enough times to be sure she knew who was with her. She had dreamt of him while hanging from these chains, and she was beyond petrified that he wasn’t real.

“It hurts,” she whispered. “All. Over.”

Spike knew that he was entering dangerous territory. Despite everything, she still thought this to be in her head. If he used this opportunity to mollify his own wants, it would not only be betraying her trust, it would make him no better than Angelus. And the Slayer would surely stake him when she was back to herself. And he would deserve it.

The heat radiating off her, though. Spike knew that scent. He had dreamt of it. Wanted it. Wanted her to want him so badly that it had been difficult to face each day. And never, regardless of circumstance, had he ever thought to be here. With her. With her actually returning some sort of his feelings.

The conscience that was becoming a real bother wasn’t satisfied.

“Buffy,” he said, “are you sure? This is me. Spike. The vampire you hate. The thorn in your side. Remember me? Remember—”

A strangled sob choked through her lips, and she shook her head. “Hurts so much,” she cried. “It hurts so much, Spike. And it never stops. I’m the…it’s not supposed to hurt so much for me. Slayers are supposed to… Please just…make it go away.”

That was it. Bugger the conscience. Ethics be damned. His girl needed him.

And he had to leave her. If he was going to leave her…

“Please…” she sobbed.

“Shhhh…” Spike lowered his head to her throat, caressing her sore skin with his tongue as his hands slid to her hips, rubbing comforting circles against muscles that were beyond strained. He made a mental note that one of the first things he would do for her once this was over was a massage—full body, if she let him. Followed by a long soak in the tub. He could feel the tension wracked through her system. The essence of her innate strength was worn and tattered—still there, but forgotten. The strain on every ligament there was to strain.

Buffy was not the Slayer. Not like this. Not while she was Angelus’s torture toy. He had raped her of everything that was ever hers to claim. Right now, she was just a girl. Just Buffy. Stashed somewhere while her ex honey tore the bloody town apart. Just a girl, waiting for her prison collapse upon her. To ensure the fullness of her death, or give her just that much room to breathe.

She tasted raw—in and of herself. The essence of Buffy. Not covered. Not clean. She was simply there, bathed in her own blood and dirt. Her skin was salted with more than simply the taste of her tears. There was nothing physically pleasing about her on any superficial level, but she was still his homecoming, and Spike relished it. The dry crust of her blood lacing nearly every inch of skin his lips touched. The tangles in her hair. The discernible stains on her face that marked the path her tears took. He sampled it all. Needed it all. It made her real. Made her all for him.

The noises she made were driving him crazy. Not only from pleasure, but also the stepping-stones of the most breathtaking relief a person could experience. The little whispered begs for more, the tears that rekindled at his touch, though not from pain. His kisses became more urgent with every breath of encouragement, his fingers aching to explore her more intimately, but he refrained. Even with her spoken permission, there was something about this that was just wrong.

His mouth had different ideas. After showering her collarbone with reassuring kisses, he edged himself further southward. Her encouraging moans served as music to his ears, and he found himself inwardly composing a ballad of bloody awful poetry filled with every rotten, overused cliché the world had ever seen. He nuzzled her breasts, then sampled each with his tongue.

“Please,” he heard her whimper. “More.”

The pleas drove him wild. Slowly—reverently—he drew his tongue around one hardened nipple before closing his mouth around her. He kept his gaze on her face, enchanted by the sight of her. Her head tossed back, her eyes closed, her teeth clamping down on her lip as if to keep herself quiet. She was beautiful to him then. More so than she had ever been.

It was her strength, he decided. In the face of everything, her strength had not failed her. She had prevailed. She would. She could be destroyed over and over again, but it would take more than this to defeat her. It would take more than the armies of Hell. And god, he loved her for it. His Slayer.

“More,” she begged him, and this time, he did not refuse her. The hands that had been itching to play stirred to life, one scaling up her body to tend to the neglected breast, the other dipping between her open thighs to caress the tender flesh spread for him. He found her clit with his thumb and stroked lightly until a harsh sob from her lips.

“Good,” Buffy mewled. “Hurt too much.”

Spike immediately pulled back. “I’m hurting you?”

If he hurt her, he would stake himself.

“No. This feels…you’re…” She was crying again.

Goddamn, he never wanted to make her cry. Reactionary tears to pleasure were something he was familiar with, but not like this. While he fancied the idea of satisfying her to such an extent that she felt moved enough to cry, it was the last thing he wanted from her now.

“Am I dead?” she asked.

“No.”

“But—”

“You’re very, very alive, baby.” Unable to resist, Spike leaned inward and brushed his lips against hers. The hand between her legs started to move again, fingers imploring her sex gently. He still wasn’t completely convinced that he wasn’t hurting her, and so decided to take things as earthly slow as possible. “You’re burning me up. Making it…”

His fingers encountered a fluid that shouldn’t be there. One that made an entirely separate part of his anatomy react, though his body froze in turn.

Blood. There was fresh blood between her thighs.

A low, quivering breath slipped through his lips. “Buffy,” he murmured. “Pet, is it time for your monthlies? Do you know?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“You’re bleeding, darling.” He didn’t want to press the issue, but he had to know. Either way. If she was about to start her womanly cycle, Angelus was going to use that to his full advantage. The thought made his insides twist. “Are you…”

Buffy looked at him a beat longer before seeming to understand. “Oh, no,” she replied. “How long have I been here?”

“Few days.”

His own answer startled him. Was that all? A few days?

The Slayer didn’t take to that answer any better than he did. “Just a few days?”

Spike smiled gently, unable to stop himself from kissing her. “It’s been forever to me, pet.”

“Me too.”

“But you aren’t due to your…” He gestured. Discussing his lady’s menstrual cycle was nothing he was comfortable with, especially since she wasn’t really his lady. Especially since her dirtied, abused nude body hung from the ceiling like a chicken waiting to be gutted. “You aren’t scheduled…to…erm…commence your…?”

“My period?”

Well, seemed she had no such qualms.

“No,” she said at last. “I’m not…no.”

Spike frowned. That didn’t make any sense.

Then he understood.

“Fuck,” he snarled, shaking at once with unbridled fury. “God, Buffy. I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna—”

“Spike—”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“It’s not him.”

He blinked at her. How on earth could she say that? Could she still find it within herself to differentiate one from the other? It was beyond his measure. He knew damn well that if Angel ever repossessed his own body, he would blame himself. Because a part of Angelus would always be the other. That was the way it was. Just as William was resurfacing within him, Angel and his counterpart similarly remained the same. With one another, neither would exist.

Spike sighed at that and deftly removed his fingers from her sex. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said.

Buffy looked at him quizzically.

“Baby, that blood is fresh. You’re…” He clenched a fist and shook his head. “Did he come in here before…?”

There was silence—she didn’t know when they had gone out, so she wouldn’t know which _before_ he referred.

Something cold fell within him. Angelus had likely been in here enjoying her when he’d sensed her before.

“You weren’t hurting me,” she whispered.

“I know, but I’m not gonna risk it.”

“Spike, please…” Tears clouded her eyes again. “Please don’t leave me here. Not to…”

“I’m gonna find a way to get you out, sweetheart. You’re just…I’ll be back.” Spike released a sigh against her shoulder. “I won’t let them…I’m not gonna leave you here. You understand me? But they’re gonna be back soon, and I won’t do you any good as a pile of a dust.”

“He’s going to hurt me again.”

There was a tightening in his stomach. Spike wanted very much to promise her just the opposite. To assure her that he would find away to get her out before Angelus thought to touch her again. But reality’s odds were against him, and he knew better than to make promises he couldn’t keep. “I’ll try, pet. You gotta be strong for me. Can you do that?”

_Of course she can,_ his mind reasoned. _She’s the Slayer._

Within these walls, it didn’t matter what she was. She was Buffy. A girl. A woman. Someone needed more strength than the world could offer. Someone who needed him.

“Yes,” she breathed. And that was all he needed to hear.

Spike nodded and kissed her again. A long, real kiss. Something she needed to feel as much as experience. His lips strayed to her cheek, then her forehead. “Anyone asks,” he murmured, “I wasn’t here. You don’t even know I’m in town. Okay? Hopefully I was around Angelus enough for him to think the scent’s not coming from you. If not, I’ll bump into him on purpose.”

_He’s not gonna fall for that._

Oh well. It was better than nothing.

“All right?”

“All right.”

Easy for her. She thought she was dreaming this, anyway.

“I’ll come back for you.”

Her eyes met his. “Okay.”

Spike nodded and pursed his lips, loathe to leave her, but he knew he had stayed longer than he should have already. With a final parting kiss, he forced himself back up toward the door, turning away only when it was absolutely necessary.

He didn’t get far. Buffy called after him. Small. Inquisitive.

“You’re really real?” she asked him when she had his eyes.

The hope behind her voice broke him a thousand times over. Hope. Not disgust. Hope, and more relief than he reckoned even he had ever felt.

When she cried again, it would be from happiness.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Spike answered hoarsely. “I’m so very, very real.”

Buffy nodded at that, and smiled. There it was. His reason. His understanding. His Slayer.

She smiled and it was his everything.

And he would get her out.

Even if it killed him.


	24. Ballad for Dead Friends

The lobby of the Hyperion was dark, and though Wright figured this wasn’t out of the ordinary on its own, his spidey senses were telling him something was wrong.

"Anyone else having a serious Jack Nicholson moment?" Gunn asked when no one spoke.

Nothing for a minute. Wesley blinked and looked at him. "Pardon?"

" _The Shining_ ," Wright clarified, surveying the lobby with intent. "Get a bead on anything?"

Wesley shook his head and stepped forward. "Spike?"                                                          

Zack blinked. "Why would Spike be here?"

"Well, he did disappear from the hunting party. Maybe he found something and wanted to share."

"If Spike was here, he would've let us know by now," Wright replied. "No...this is something else..." He stopped, holding up a hand. "It's..."

Then he wasn't speaking at all. Before Wes or Gunn could get another word in, Wright bolted across the lobby and leapt behind the check-in desk. And there she was, huddled against the floor, sobbing hard and rocking herself back and forth.

“Are you hurt?”

Cordelia shook her head but didn’t say anything else. Wright stood there for a long moment, unsure of what to do—if she even wanted him to do anything. He found himself moving forward after a beat, and the next thing he knew, Cordelia was in his arms, crying against his shoulder.

That was how Wesley and Gunn found him. Found _them._

"Oh god, Cordy." Wes hurried forward and knelt beside them.

Gunn looked paralyzed. "What happened?"

There was nothing for a long minute. Just gentle rocking amidst the soft sobs she cried into the Wright’s shoulder.

"Cordy, are you—"

The instant Gunn took a step forward, though, she clutched more tightly to Zack and shook her head, mumbling into his ear.

"What is it?" Wesley asked.

"She says she doesn't wanna talk about it," Wright replied.

Wesley nodded and rose to his feet. "Cordelia," he said softly. "Was it a vision? Did someone hurt you?"

Zack's eyes went wide. "The girls." A sense of urgency suddenly corded his muscles, but at the same time, he didn't want to leave her.

He looked at Gunn.

"On it,” the man said with a nod before turning and disappearing up the staircase.

Cordelia lifted her head at that, tears staining her cheeks. She looked at Wes, then at Wright, who watched as she made an effort to regain control.

Finally, she said, "It wasn't... The girls are fine."

Wright unleashed a sigh of relief, but that didn't stop him from tightening his arms around Cordelia when she tried to sit up. He couldn’t say why, but he wasn't quite ready to let her go.

Wesley had the same idea. Cautiously, he leaned forward, cocking his head. "Cordy..."

"I'm fine," she replied, sitting up.

Both Wright and Wes just looked at her.

"What?” she snapped defensively. “I'm...I—"

"Cordy, we saw you," Wright said softly, wiping away a lazy tear from her cheek with his thumb. "You better tell us what's wrong."

She shuddered within his arms a bit, shaking her head. "I..."

"Girls are fine," Gunn announced, jumping back into the lobby. "Is she all right?"

"We don't know," Wesley replied. "She won't tell us what's wrong."

At that, Cordelia became defensive. It was actually rather admirable, considering that she looked ready to start crying again at any turn. "That's because," she said, glancing back to Zack. "There's nothing wrong."

"Nothing you wanna tell us, you mean," Gunn clarified.

Wright scowled at him, eyes narrowing. "Just back down, all right?"

"It might be important. Cordy, we love you. You know that, right? If something happened—"

"It was nothing," she repeated. "I..." And then trailed off. When she came back to herself, her eyes shone with clarity. Understanding. "I need to speak with Zack alone, please."

Though Wright could tell the request surprised Wesley and Gunn, it didn’t shake him at all. He helped her to her feet, keeping an arm around her middle to steady her in case she decide to fall. "Right, guys," he said. "You heard the lady."

Wesley didn't seem convinced. "Cordelia—"

"I'm fine, Wes. Just...go home. See Virginia or something." She plastered a weak smile on her face and pulled herself from Wright's arms to give her friend a hug. "I wouldn't lie to you."

"I know," he replied. "It's just...with things as they are..."

She nodded. "I know. I love you guys, too. But this...this doesn't have to do with you. Okay?"

Wes looked at her for a long moment before nodding. "All right," he murmured. "All right." Then, with a sigh, he turned to Gunn and nodded for the doors. "Come on. We better go."

Gunn, however, didn’t look convinced. He was studying her harshly like a protective older brother. It was understandable, given the circumstances. "I don't like this," he said. "We—"

"Please, Gunn. I'll see you tomorrow. Okay?"

Nothing, and finally a nod. A very reluctant but understanding nod. "All right." His gaze turned to Zack's. "You're staying with her tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Let us know if anything—"

"I will."

"Okay."

After the others left, an uncomfortable silence fell between them. Zack wasn’t sure what to do now that he was alone with her, and she didn’t seem to have an answer at the ready.

"Ummm," he said. "I'm going to go check on the girls."

"They're fine."

He smiled. "Yeah. Well, maybe when you have kids, you'll understand."

"Nikki's your kid?"

At that, he paused, eyes wide. "Good god, no!"

"Didn't think so."

"Do I really look that old? Honestly?"

Cordelia grinned, though not as broadly as usual. The sheen of dried tears glimmered lightly off her face. "Well, I dunno," she said after a moment. It was odd to hear a voice that was usually confident quiver. "Maybe if you shaved and smiled a bit more, like I said earlier."

It was natural—Wright scowled, and earned a small chuckle.

"Or do the exact opposite. Whichev."

"This is getting back at me for calling Wes old, isn't it?"

"Ummm...sure."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Yeah. Uh huh. I'll be right back."

The girls were fine, though he had known they would be. It was a picture he had seen a thousand times. Nikki was curled on her side, one hand tucked under her pillow where she kept a stake, just in case. He had told her that such precautions were not necessary while they were guests in the Hyperion due to the enhanced invitation charm, but she didn't care. It was habit, after all, and she couldn't sleep if there wasn't a weapon within reach.

Rosalie was on the opposite bed, wrapped like a burrito in her sheets. The sheets themselves had been a godsend. Wright hadn't known the hotel had any extra accommodations and suspected that Cordelia had snagged them from Angel's room. The same room Spike had avoided. Wright had as well. It might be nicer, but he didn’t want anything to do with it.

Because of Angelus…

It was a roundabout kind of sense, he knew, but had Angelus remained Angelus—had that damned soul never happened in the first place—Darla would not have given Zack a second glance. Sure, people would have died, but Amber would have lived. She would have lived, and he would never have known about vampires, demons, or other uglies that went bump in the night.

Purely selfish reasoning, of course.

But then he thought of Wesley and Gunn, even Spike. His thoughts drifted to Cordelia downstairs. The idea of not knowing her did not rest well with him. He didn't know if he had been out of the loop too long, if he was merely reaching for any connection, or if he was seeing something that wasn't there, but that didn't change the radical dive his feelings had taken. Slowly at first. Little things.

Seeing her sobbing like that had been one of the single most horrifying moments in his life, and he hadn’t thought that could happen anymore. After all that had happened, all that had led him here, he couldn't stand it if another one of his girls got hurt. Rosalie was all right. Nikki was all right. Cordelia was not, even if she denied it. She was a pillar of strength, he had to admit. Even Amber at her best couldn't have witnessed and done the things that the Seer had and remained so…peppy.

And still, the thought of moving on sickened him. It felt wrong to be anything but faithful to his wife, even years later. Aside from one memorable night in San Antonio, Wright hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since Amber died. He hadn’t wanted to. His life had been too consumed with vengeance to worry much with sex or companionship.

Now he felt something else, and he didn’t like it. But he also didn’t know who to blame—himself for feeling it, Cordelia for being it, or Amber’s ghost for haunting him still. 

Better to get downstairs. Apart from everything else, Wright didn't want to leave Cordelia for too long. The girls were fine—that was all he needed to know.

He found her in much the same state that he had left her. She had moved to one of the sofas in the middle of the lobby and was sipping at a cup of hot tea. He smiled. A tower of strength she might be, but even towers had their off days.

A flicker and she glanced up. "Hey."

The smile on his face broadened. She spoke as though he was a friend visiting for the weekend.

"Hey."

"Girls all right?"

"Yeah. Sleeping."

A shadow of a smirk crossed her face. "Told yah."

Wright's grin remained but he didn't reply. Instead, he continued on downstairs and assumed a seat in the chair opposite her. They sat in companionable silence for a few seconds—enjoying the art of not speaking, even if discussion was inevitable.

When the time came to break the silence, Wright was glad she was the first to speak. The last thing he wanted was to coax her into a conversation she wasn’t ready for.

Yet her words chilled him.

"She was pretty."

Three little words. Nothing specific, and yet he knew what she was talking about. Wright wasn't aware that he was staring at her until Cordelia shifted uncomfortably and averted her eyes.

Then she was rambling, and that was never good.

"Really, from what I saw, Rosalie looks just like her. Well, you got the blonde thing going. Where did the blonde come from? Brown plus brown equals blonde? Maybe it was something on your parents’ side. But totally—the eyes. The eyes are, like, the same. I can—"

Zack grasped her wrist, his eyes seeking hers. "You saw her."

A trembling breath slipped passed Cordelia's lips, and she nodded, her gaze fogging again with the shimmer of tears. "I saw her," she replied hoarsely. "Oh god. I...there was...over and over again. So much pain. So much...so much rage. I hadn't felt anything like that since... Well, last year, when the visions wouldn't stop and I felt like my head was about to explode. It was so vivid. I felt it. I felt everything that bitch did to her." A sob rattled her system, and she caressed her mouth with the back of her hand. "I can't...it was...and then you. I felt what you felt, and I…I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about."

"But I felt it, Zack. You don't understand. I felt it. I felt everything." She shook her head and tried to turn away, but he wouldn't let her. It was important to him that they maintain eye contact. "Everything. Her. You. Even Rosalie, I think. On a level. It was...and I don't know why! It's not like it's something I can get everyone on. It's not like I can tell Wes and Gunn to pile up the car with stakes and crosses so we bust a cap to go save her. It happened and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I feel helpless and I...I'm never helpless. It's—"

That struck a chord he did not wish to investigate. "I know."

"Sensory overload. God, it's never been like that before. I've never felt everything before." She shook her head. "And it was tearing me apart. It didn't last long, but it felt like forever. It felt like—"

"I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner."

There was a cold pause and her gaze met his again. And then, anger. Random but real anger. She jumped to her feet and wiped at her eyes. "Would you stop already?"

Wright frowned. "Stop what?"

"This! Stop...stop just pretending that you're concerned about me, all right? I know now. I know everything. I get why you're here. Why you want Darla dead so much." Her hands fisted. "God, she was right here. Right fucking here and Wes and I didn't just...kill her like we should have. 'Cause Angel had to go on his all holy quest only to find out that—hey—she couldn't be saved. She was gonna die and there was nothing his redemptive ass could do about it." Cordelia stopped again. "There are only so many lines a person can cross before redemption's not listed under the options section of the _How To Live As A Dead Person_ guidebook."

Zack rose to his feet. "I wasn't pretending."

"That's swell. But I can't make it stop." She clutched at her chest. "I can't make it stop. I just keep seeing it over and over and over again. I can even..." A painful pause. "I can even hear her laughing. Darla laughing as she...as she butchered—"

That was too much. He held up a hand and closed his eyes tightly.

"I'm sorry," Cordelia whispered after a minute.                    

"I am, too. Sorry you had to see that. Go through it." He shook his head and glanced away. "It was hard enough the first time. Doesn't get any easier, either. Turning into who I am. Doing what I do."

"You do good, though. You've done a lot of good."

"I've done my fair share of bad, too."

"I think that comes with being human, sweetie. Just the way things are." Cordelia sighed “I can definitely see why trusting Spike was a big for you. Hell, I was there for the entire 'Angel goes bonkers, take one' and I still...I forgave him. Came and worked for him. Saved him from being hot-pokered to death by Spike."

Wright quirked an eyebrow. "Someday, you're gonna have to tell me that story, start to finish."

"It was before he was a good guy." She shrugged.

"You call Spike a good guy?"

"Despite my new and improved position against all things vampy? Yeah." Cordelia smiled thinly. "He's one of us. Besides...you were able to see beyond the fangs."

"Took me a while."

She gave him a skeptical glance. "It's only been a few days."

"Felt longer. And I haven't given him a clean bill of...whatever you give vampires." Wright frowned. "But I see...sometimes I see so much of me in him. What he's doing for this chick."

"Buffy."

He made a face. "Horrible name."

Cordelia chuckled. "The girl was always on the wrong side of weird back in high school. Of course, she had the slaying thing and the typical 'woe is me, my boyfriend's a bloodsucking fiend from beyond the grave' thing going for her. The Angel and Buffy show. Really wish we'd had a mute button."

"And now she's Spike's girl."

"Well, Spike wants her to be his girl. There's a big difference." She frowned. "I hope he knows what he's doing, or realizes it, anyway. Buffy and I were never close for the obvious reasons, but I do remember her being a little on the high and mighty side when it came to vamps."

Wright snickered. "Well, she _is_ the Slayer. From what I've heard about those the past few days, it's sorta her duty to not give vampires a free pass."

"Even with what Spike is doing for her? Risking for her?"

"Spike's said he doesn't expect anything in return."

"And you believe that?"

"Yes." He held up a hand. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't want anything in return. He just knows he's not gonna get it. And I see myself in that. More so than I wish I did."

Cordelia pursed her lips. "This is purely on a seer level," she said after a minute. "But...I think you two were in the same state before you met. And despite however little you like it, you're bringing out the humanity in each other, because you can see where it needs to go. You said you see yourself in him. Maybe he sees himself in you, too. Maybe he sees what will happen to him if he...if he can't save her."

There was a pause. "He'll turn into some self-loathing demon hunter who can't see but from kill to kill, and doesn't stop even when he knows it's destroying him?"

"No." She took several bold steps toward him, gaze steady and intent. He had never known a woman who could go from crying one minute to looking so damned courageous and determined the next. He had always boasted Amber's strength and independence, but he didn't know now if he’d seen something that had actually been there or not. "Instead of doing all the saving, he'll become someone who needs to be saved just as badly. And he'll be too proud to admit it when he needs help."

What followed remained a blur. Wright felt something warm brush against his lips—soft, pliable, and aching with as much wrought tension and liberation as he had ever thought to give or receive. It was delicious. Bold. God, it was another first. The girls of his past had usually been too shy to make such a forward move, even if it was birthed from friendship rather than sensuality. New and wonderful and gone too quickly.

Cordelia smiled at him warmly with kindness he reckoned she didn't even know she possessed and made to pass him. "Good night."

Only he couldn't allow it to rest at that. Not after being given a sample of something he had denied himself for the better part of a decade. Before he could think through the consequences of his actions, Wright had grasped her by the arm and drawn her mouth back to his. Needing, hot, and relentless. A surge of cool relief flooded him when she did not challenge him, rather sank into him with the same note of surrender. Whatever battle he had thought to come to blows with tonight was over. And after years of denying himself, he was ready to drown.

She understood. Fully. Of everyone that had tried to break down his wall, she had succeeded. Because she felt it just as much as he did.

Too soon it was over. They pulled apart gasping.

"Wow," she breathed.

"Yeah," he agreed, a little dazed. "Sorry, it's...it's just been so long."

"I didn't mean to... That wasn't what I was trying—"

"I know."

They were silent for a few more minutes. Panting and studying each other without trade. Something there that neither wanted to approach. Something to be saved for another time.

"Well," Cordelia said, clearing her throat and stepping aside. "I'm...umm...going to go to bed. Use...well, I guess Angel's room is the only room that's all bed-ready."

"I can take you home if you like."

"No. I'd rather...umm...stay here." She offered a weak smile. "Little late to be going out again. Besides, your girls'd be all by themselves."

He nodded. "Yeah. They would."

Another moment. Another nod. "Goodnight, Zack."

Cordelia made it halfway up the stairs before he stopped her.

Wright looked perplexed by his own request for a minute, wrestling with thoughts and words. And when he spoke, it was more than heartfelt. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being one to save me." He grinned slightly. "For being that damned stubborn."

A pause before she smiled. Zack made a note then to get her to smile as often as possible.

"Anytime," she replied with a wink. Then disappeared into the darkness of the upper chambers. Up with the others. Nikki and Rosalie.

His girls.

 


	25. Bleeding From Yesterday

The day started on an early, almost serene note.

Naturally, this was cause for concern.

The phone refused to ring, the doors remained closed to new clients, and there had been no word from Spike in nearly thirty-six hours. At least, no word that was obvious. Wright had ventured to Caritas alongside Gunn half a dozen times to see if any word had come in, but the lines of communication remained quiet.

Cordelia shared a few tales of similar boredom with Wright over another nutritional McDonald’s breakfast, earning laughs here and there along with general bewilderment. It was different. After having been on the road for so long, following lead after lead of new information, hearing of people who spent entire days—and weeks, pending—without anything to go on seemed damn near impossible. Especially in a city like Los Angeles.

There were other things to discuss. She shared over coffee several interesting Buffy-related stories from Sunnydale. Her graduation, during which the entire senior class banded together to destroy a giant snake-shaped mayor. He heard of her adventures with someone named Xander Harris. He laughed when she told him about battling Buffy for Homecoming Queen. He provided false sympathy when she related the story of finding Xander and someone named Willow making out while being held Spike’s prisoner, and ignored the dirty smirk she gave him in turn. He even listened to the dull-as-dust stories involving the ‘Cordettes’ and their various extravaganzas.

“You’re still very young,” he observed.

“I turned twenty last month,” she retorted with a shrug. Then she became suspicious. “Why? How old are you?”

Wright smiled. “Well, I was married in college, was widowed three years after, and Rosie’s almost ten. You do the math.”

Cordelia made a face. “Have I mentioned that math wasn’t my best subject?”

“Only a thousand or so times.” There was a pause. “It’s considerable…the age difference.”

“What, give or take ten years?” She looked unimpressed. “Honey, Buffy and Angel were separated by centuries.”

He flashed a cheeky grin. “Oh, so now we’re star-crossed, too?”

“Don’t call them star-crossed. Spike’d have your head for that. Besides, I don’t think that applies when one of the aforementioned lovers is torturing the daylights out of the other.” She frowned and shook her head. “And hey—buddy—you’re the one who brought it up.”

“Just wanted to let you know, in case you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

Cordelia stuck out her tongue. “Perv.”

Wright smirked. “Yup. Color me one dirty old man.”

“You’re not old. Well, not really.” She paused, considering. “Okay, so a little, considering. If you sit down and do a serious contrast and compare. But still. No big. Age wasn’t really a huge deal for me. Never was. I mean, hello. As I’ve said, Angel’s had a freakin’ bicentennial, and Spike’s gotta be way up there.”

“He’s a hundred and twenty seven,” Wright replied automatically. He ducked his head at the look she gave him in turn. “Sorry. I do my homework.”

“Obviously.” Cordelia snickered. “What? Did you not have some brainy friend to copy off of?”

“I did, but he was much too honest to let me cheat. Had to make the grades, myself.”

“You see, when you live on a Hellmouth, cheating doesn’t exactly strike as a deadly sin.” She shrugged. “Ah, well. Willow never really helped me, anyway. She was always more Buffy’s friend than mine.”

“You sound like you were a very different person in high school.”

“I was a total bitch in high school.”

Wright shrugged. “Knew me a few of them.”

“Well, at least I’ve grown enough as a person that I can admit that now.”

He grinned. “Yes you can.” There was a brief but complacent silence as they considered each other—then Zack jolted to a start and flashed a glance at his watch. “Ah, fuck. I gotta run. The boys and I are gonna swing by Caritas, then do a sweep of the territory the vamps covered last night.”

“You’re going by Caritas again?”

“Gotta at least try to keep the lines of communication open.” He was suddenly leaning over the check-in counter, scribbling something down on the first scrap of paper his fingers found. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone—”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Because of my spaz-fest last night? Really, I’m—”

“But seeing as I have no choice, here’s my pager number.” He glanced up, all tease from his eyes having vanished. “Don’t blow it off like that. A ‘spaz-fest’. It was more to me than that. It was more to you than that. Right?”

For moment, she just stared at him. Then she came back to herself with a hard nod. “Yeah…erm…yes. It was. I just…my defense mechanism is to make everything—”

“I know.” He smiled. “Mine, too.” Another brief minute of silence. “I mean it, Cordy. Page me if you have another fit.”

“Hey! It wasn’t—”

“And watch the girls for me. Don’t let Nikki give you any shit.”

Before she could register what happened, Zack had leaned far across the counter to give her a brief, however passionate kiss before he bolted across the lobby. It left her winded for seconds after he disappeared, and forced her down another spiral of self-analysis that she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

The silence, however, didn’t last long. Within five minutes, the entry doors swung open again. Cordelia plastered on a smile and peeked into the hallway, witty retort about pagers and obligation at the ready before she caught the face of the man in the lobby.

“…Lindsey?”

The lawyer from Wolfram and Hart—the very same she had come to loathe on principle—blinked at her dazedly before realizing he had been addressed. While they weren’t terribly acquainted, she knew him well enough to know something was seriously wrong.

“Cordelia,” he muttered. “I…I need help.”

*~*~*

Before falling in love with the Slayer, Spike wagered he had never spent more than five minutes in the course of his unlife worrying about anything or anyone. Everything had fallen at a general give-or-take level of acceptance. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything more. Even with the saga that was Drusilla, he hadn’t lost much sleep over it. Her infidelity, while it dug trenches, was just something he accepted. He had known that from the start—Angelus made very certain that he understood that while the insane vampire had chosen to sire William, her daddy would always be the preferred lover.

A century could do wonders to one’s perception. Angelus had only been with them for two decades before he got himself all souled up and rat-happy. From there, it had been easy street. Killing and fucking all the livelong day. Prague presented the first problem that he hadn’t been able to readily talk himself out of, but once they escaped, he hadn’t worried too much. True, he had spent his every waking minute hunting for the cure to his beloved’s ailment, but there wasn’t much worrying involved. Just tedious research and nonstop wanking, seeing as Drusilla was in no condition to address his sexual urges every time he got them.

Falling in love with Buffy had turned his world upside down in more than the obvious ways. For days, he had tormented himself with thoughts of her. Debated a couple times taking a drill to his head dig out thought altogether until it became abundantly clear that he was indeed in love with her. Helplessly so, and had been for a long bloody time—longer than he was comfortable admitting. Probably had been since the first time they’d tried and failed to kill each other.

After admitting his impossible feelings to himself—and similarly after surpassing the phase where he bumbled stupidly outside her house, debating and fighting the urge to storm in like a madman and demand she hand over his unlife, please—Spike had experienced something a century could not have prepared him for. All out concern. The knowledge that slayers were creatures of a limited lifespan. That she had already surpassed her due date. And yes, she was the best of the best. She was fucking poetry itself, but even that failed to comfort. So he watched her. And loved her, worried himself a little more dead each day that his own words would come to pass. That some grizzly night thing would have itself one good day, and she would be taken from him forever.

It astonished him how deeply his feelings ran. How strong his love had become after he’d accepted it. He had spent a century with Drusilla—a fucking century—and never come close to feeling this or anything like it. To experiencing the sensation of his heart swelling just from the look she’d given him when he’d touched her or the bittersweet taste of her mouth when they had kissed. It was impossible to compare, impossible to believe there had been existence before her. That he had lived without this mammoth love swallowing his insides. When her voice echoed her relief that he was there, that he was real, when nothing else could possibly ring as true.

Spike still wasn’t thoroughly convinced that she believed he’d actually been there. The idea that she could have dreamt of him coming at all confused him, though also served to infuse him with hope. But fuck, the pangs he felt now were unbloodybearable.

Angelus had made no mention of her yet, even when he thought he would. Even after he disappeared and reappeared hours later, Slayer smell rank on his clothing, he’d offered no explanation. He also didn’t comment on the scent Spike had left in her death chamber or his disappearance during their hunt.

But Spike had gone to lengths to cover himself. He’d showered thoroughly, fed off a few more townspeople without killing them, then proceeded to get himself thoroughly pissed at some low-ranking pub. There was no doubting _that_ smell or the telling wobble in his stride.

But Buffy smelled of him. He knew that. She smelled of him and of her own arousal. He hadn’t had the courage to push her over that threshold, and perhaps it was for the best. A climax was certainly more telling on the nose.

At least, as was per his experience.

It was difficult business not staking Angelus outright when Spike saw him next. Knowing what he knew. Having felt her blood between his fingers, and knowing why it was there. Knowing who had made her bleed.

There were several truths to be reckoned with. His worrying was going to drive him out of his mind if his fury did not beat him to it. And there had to be a way to get access to Buffy’s manacles without attracting attention. Were it anyone else, Spike would bump into Angelus at random and snag the key the old-fashioned way. But it wasn’t anyone else, and there was no way the great billowing sod would fall for that. Didn’t bloody matter how good Spike was at petty theft. Didn’t matter that he had paid for more than his fair share of drinks without paying for them at all. Didn’t matter that Xander Harris had served as his steady income months long after Spike had moved to his crypt.

No. None of that mattered. Because this wasn’t some glorified carpenter. This was Angelus. And he would know.

He always fucking did.

There was only one option tight now. Spike had to return to the Hyperion and talk with the others. Let them know what he knew, what was happening to her. Demand resolution until they had an acceptable answer.

The happenings around Wolfram and Hart seemed to be on a very give and take basis. Angelus and Darla had spent most of the day basking and fucking and eating whatever they could find. On occasion, some lawyer bint named Lilah Morgan would send down an impressionable intern to be made into a hearty snack. Dru would come crawling into his lap and he’d have to entertain her until she got bored or distracted. And always his thoughts were on Buffy.

Time to go back to the Hyperion. Definitely. To the others.

They would get her out.

*~*~*

It amazed her still how quickly things could go from bad to worse.

Lindsey had been in the lobby for two minutes, disheveled and more than a little defeated, when the doors flew open once more and Kate Lockley had paraded inward. She wore an expression that could freeze Hell, though she’d looked more in the mood to raise it.

“I’m having trouble with this,” Lockley barked by way of greeting. “You want to know why?”

Cordelia frowned and fought the temptation to bang her head against the desk. “Because those shoes really don’t match your top?”

That didn’t seem to help. Lockley brushed passed a dumbfound Lindsey without tossing him a second glance and slammed what looked to be a police file on the front desk. “I’m having trouble with this, Ms. Chase. Twelve reports from different victims with distinguishing marks on their necks. Notice anything familiar?” She didn’t give her time to explain. “A man with Billy Idol hair and a British accent? You assured me that he was safe!”

“He is!” Cordelia snapped, leaping to her feet. “Or else those twelve would be dead and not filing police reports.”

“So you’re telling me that it’s all right that a loose vampire feeds on people as long as they don’t die. Let’s not count how much blood loss was sustained. How many hospital bills are piling on innocent victims without insurance.” She slammed her open palm against the counter. “These are still assault charges, Cordelia. Innocent people—”

“If I may intervene,” Lindsey volunteered. “The term _innocent people_ is—”

“Shut up,” both women snapped.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. My interest is piqued.” Lindsey glanced to Cordelia. “Spike? What’s your connection with Spike?”

“And that falls under the category of ‘questions I am least likely to answer,’” she retorted with an unpleasant smile. “Especially to the right-hand man of Evil Incorporated, who, by the by, kidnapped the Slayer.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh really?”

“You ought to know. I was the one who informed you of Angel’s transformation, wasn’t I?”

She frowned. “Yes. You were also the one who initiated said transformation.”

“I was never in favor of it. That was Holland’s idea.”

“And what a fantastic idea it was.”

“He’s dead now, if it’s any consolation.”

“Because of a party I let Angel break in on,” Lockley added. “If I had kept him in custody—”

“You and everyone else would have been killed,” Lindsey said. “Trust me, Detective, you don’t know Angelus half as well as you think you do. The books you’ve piled through? The facts you’ve memorized? Words on paper. That’s all they are. They can’t begin to measure up to what he is. What he’s done.” His voice quieted. “The things I’ve seen him do.”

“The things you’ve let him do, you mean,” Kate snapped.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh. Rich. Didn’t have a choice except to allow him to shed blood all over town. Do you have any idea how many people lost their lives last night?” Lockley turned her icy gaze back to Cordelia. “For every person that your friend didn’t kill last night, your boss killed double. That doesn’t account for the multiple reports that compile what Darla and Drusilla did with their… Do you have any conception of—”

“Your friend?” Lindsey demanded. “You put him there, didn’t you? Spike. There’s no other—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There was no way he was falling for that. Cordelia was an expert liar even if she wasn’t a keen actress, but the remark itself fell flat.

But Lindsey didn’t seem bothered. Rather, he was staring at her as though trying to see through her. “Yes you do,” he said softly. “I… God, I wish I’d known sooner.”

That was it. Cordelia’s eyes went wide. “What?” she demanded. “What did you do?”

“I haven’t done anything,” he said. “Not as of lately. But I did send a small group of mercenary vamps to take care of the problem. They’re dust, just so you know. He and some rogue killed every one, according to… I just wish I’d known.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Well, you know now. Live with it.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been putting myself through,” he snapped. “Watching…oh god. Watching what he’s done to her…”

“Spike?”

“No, Angelus.” Lindsey started pacing, a trait that looked odd on him. “The things I’ve seen him do…because he’s bored. Because it’s fun. Because it’s her.” He shook his head. “I had a half mind to do something myself if I didn’t think it end up killing us both. It’s not…”

“You’ve been video monitoring everything that Angel does?” Kate asked softly.

“Yes.”

“Does he know?”

Lindsey’s eyes widened. “Know? Are you kidding me? You really think I’d be standing here if he knew?” He sighed and shook his head. “If Spike is really—”

“He’s really,” Cordelia said. “Trust me.”

“I don’t have a choice but to.” He glanced to the ground, to Lockley, and to the ground again. “We’ll have to figure out some way to get her out of there. He has better access than I do, even if I don’t believe Angelus has told him about her yet. That she’s still alive.”

“So you don’t know if he’s found her yet?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t looked at last night’s tapes from the security feed. It didn’t seem necessary with all of them out on the town.”

“Murdering innocents,” Kate muttered under her breath.

Lindsey’s hands came up. “You want to try and stop them, Detective?” he asked. “Be my guest.”

“They’ll just kill you dead,” Cordelia agreed with a shrug.

Lockley glared at her. “Ms. Chase, with all due respect, there’s every possibility that I will be ‘killed dead’ every day on this job. That doesn’t change the description much, does it? I refuse to stand idly by while people are out there being maimed and murdered and god-knows-what-else. I don’t have time for this.”

“Neither do I,” Lindsey said. “Whatever you and yours are planning to do needs to be done quickly. Angel is…while he’s torturing her and loving it…he—”

Cordelia held up a hand. “Fine. Right. Whatever. Listen Lindsey, you came to us. All right? You want in, you’re gonna have to play by our rules. That means no staking my friends, especially when they’re there to help you. That also means no changing your mind once the deed is done, like some have done in the past. See if you can talk to Spike or something. I know for a fact that he’ll have more than one idea on how to get her out of there. The guy talks of nothing else.” She turned to Kate. “You. I don’t care what you do. Just stay out of our way.”

“Is your friend going to continue biting innocents?”

Lindsey coughed. Loudly.

Cordelia, in turn, offered a saccharine smile. “Hon,” she said. “It’s better than what Angelus would do. Remember that. And yes, he is, if it means getting the Slayer out. You don’t understand—Spike’s on a one-track street. Biting people means trust by crazy family means access to Slayer means saveage and hopefully much-deserved smoochies.”

“He’s really in love with her?” Lindsey asked, astonished.

“That’s none of your business, buddy. Just get back to Wolfram and Hart and see if you can dig up anything useful.” Cordelia sighed deeply and shook her head, gaze averting to the ground. “Just…do it, okay? Whatever’s going to be done needs to be in the now.”

Cordelia refused to concede defeat. It was in her nature. She reckoned she would be fighting until long after the battle had ended.

Either way, that did not stop or change what was already known.

“We’re running out of time.”


	26. Kiss the Flame

The last thing Spike expected upon arrival was to be greeted with a hearty dose of hostility, and yet it was received in spades. First by the if-looks-could-stake glare delivered by the woman he recognized as Detective Kate Lockley, and next for the groan that slipped through Cordelia’s lips as she banged her head on the front counter.

“Let me guess,” she said in manner of greeting. “You didn’t talk to Lindsey.”

Spike arched an eyebrow. “Lindsey? Yea tall? Lawyer type with a baby face and a poncy name? Nope, can’t say that I have. Not since the operation, anyway.”

“Great. Just great.”

“Ummm…just curious, but why?”

“He was just here,” Lockley said, her tone cold. “Evidently, the two of you have been playing at a crossroads.”

Spike stared at her blankly. “Whassat?”

Another low moan came from the lump that was Cordelia. “This thing,” she said, muffled. “Lindsey’s on an all out rescue-Buffy warpath. And he’s been having a major wig about it ever since…ever.”

There was a pause. Spike arched an eyebrow, calm and determined to remain reasonable. “Is that so?” he demanded. “Funny, because I coulda sworn he was one of the prats who set this entire thing up in the bloody first place. Guess life’s a little ironic like that, huh?”

At that, Lockley’s eyes widened with fury that he hadn’t noted before. “You wanna talk irony?” she spat. “Like, how you say you want to protect your slayer, and yet I somehow wind up with a dozen assault reports that match a man of your description?”

Cordelia cleared her throat, looking up. “Ummm, that’s not irony, Kate,” she corrected. “It’s hypocrisy. And didn’t we already cover this?”

Spike scowled. “I am not a bloody hypocrite. I did what I had to.”

“Yeah, what you had to.” Lockley planted her hands on her hips. “Funny how that just happened to coincide with sinking those fangs of yours into the necks of civilians all across town and the destruction of ten thousand dollars in public property.”

Cordelia frowned. “You didn’t mention that.”

“I’m mentioning it now.”

“Oh.” She furrowed her brown in consideration before turning to Spike. “Ten thousand dollars? What did you do last night?”

He shrugged. “Little of this, little of that. The usual.”

There was an irritated snicker from Lockley. She did not look impressed. “Well, that usual’s going to cost you.”

A shiver of pure anger raced down his spine, and the calm he’d been trying to hold onto slipped away. “Listen, you ignorant bint,” he snarled. “Considering my record, you oughta be glad that’s the worst that happened. Remember me? Dangerous vampire here. The same I recall you saying you’d read up on. Gave me a little lecture on the basics of my own sodding kind. I’m here for one purpose only—get the Slayer out. If a few bystanders happen to get scratched in the process, so bloody be it. I couldn’t give a lick.”

Cordelia snickered at that. “I suppose it’s too late to tell you not to take anything that Kate says personally,” she advised. “She just hates vamps.”

“Yeah, I do,” Lockley agreed. “And this one’s not climbing on my list.”

Spike leaned forward, eyes widening. “Not my problem,” he growled. “Listen, I wager you have some tragic sob story to account for your vamp aversion. Guess what—not the bloody first. I know me quite a few blokes who’ve had a bit of the same over the years.”

Cordelia cleared her throat, coaxing Spike to meet her eyes. One fleeting glance was all it took. One glance on mutual territory, and they knew each other.

“This has nothing to do with me,” Lockley spat.

“You’re right. It doesn’t,” Spike agreed, snapping back to her. “Give us a ring when you’ve figured it out.”

“Kate can help us,” Cordelia offered.

“She was our link to Wolfram and Hart. That job’s been passed on to me. She can leave.”

“No, she really can’t.” Cordelia stood at that and navigated around the desk. “I know it’s not exactly what we want, Spike, but let’s face it. Our options, our allies…kinda running on the low side, wouldn’t you say? We need all the help we can get.”

“Not from tarty bints who think themselves so bloody better than the lot of us.”

“And—ehm—excuse me, but it is Buffy that we’re saving, isn’t it?”

He frowned. “Not funny, pet.”

“But oh so true. And admit it—if she wasn’t Miss Waiting To Be Saved, you’d be the first to say so.” Cordelia batted her eyes at him expectantly, but her grin faded almost instantly when she took in his face. “Oh god. I’m sorry. Was it something I said? I—”

Spike held up a hand, shaking his head. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s just…I saw her.”

“What?” Lockley demanded, astonished.

“You saw her?” Cordelia repeated. “And she…and you… Well, where the fuck is she? Is she okay? Is she hurt? What happened?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? What had happened and why. Spike felt nothing but cold. “She…” he said, voice growing distant. “God, he’s…he’s all but butchered her.”

“So, why is she still there? Why didn’t you—”

At that, his eyes narrowed. “You honestly think that we’d be having this conversation if that’d been a bloody option?”

“Well, no. But—”

“They’ve got her fixed in these shackles that can’t be broken. Very posh. Something every decently evil law firm needs lying around.” A sigh broke his body and he collapsed into one of the armchairs in the foyer. “And what’s better…guess who has exclusive access?”

There was no need to guess. “Angel.”

“The one and only.”

Lockley pursed her lips. “Is she…is the Slayer going to be all right?”

Spike’s scowl darkened once more. “Bloody right she is.”

Cordelia looked at him. “Did she know you were there?”

He nodded. “I…I couldn’t walk away. She was just dangling there and…I couldn’t…” He shut his eyes fell, fighting the losing battle to keep his emotions to himself. Despite his liking these people, he didn’t want to bear all. “She…what they’ve…I couldn’t leave without doing something.”

Evidently, there was something in the suggested tone that Lockley didn’t like. She crossed her arms and leaned against the front counter, studying him a bit too close for comfort. “Oh really?” she retorted. “And what did you do?”

Spike looked at her with masked surprise. Well, didn’t that beat all? Of course, the one licensed detective in the building caught onto whatever he wasn’t making much noise to hide. Still, it was irritating—and furthermore—it wasn’t her business. What had occurred between him and the Slayer was very much that—between him and the Slayer. He didn’t need the opinion of an outsider and he certainly didn’t need her approval.

“I helped,” he said. And that was that.

“Oh, I’m sure you did.”

“Spike…” Cordelia ventured. “What is she talking about?”

At once, he was too infuriated by suggestion to respond. Instead, Spike leapt to his feet and stalked forward, pulsing with rage. It was both irritating and commendable that Lockley refused to flinch. The chit had stones, he had to admit. But the insinuation in her tone was unforgivable. The notion, the slightest hint of what she was saying…

It was enough to make a bloke do something he would regret.

“I didn’t hurt her,” he snarled.

“Right.”

“Hey,” Cordelia barked. “If Spike says he didn’t hurt her, he didn’t. Sorry Kate. Just one more vamp that doesn’t fit your ideal stereotype. And on that note, The Bias Line is closed tonight. Please see yourself out.”

Lockley looked at the other woman askance. “Didn’t you just say a minute ago—”

“Yeah, I know. Changing my mind. Well, you pissed me off. Get lost and don’t come back unless you have some information from Lindsey or Wolfram and Hart or something that is not a threat or an insult to my friends. All right?”

Spike stared at her, awe and bewilderment flooding him. She pointedly ignored his gaze and instead crossed her arms, waiting for Lockley to find the door.

There weren’t any words exchanged. Nothing more than a roll of the eyes and a sigh of exasperation as the detective turned and made her way out the doors. It wasn’t until they were alone that Cordelia finally glanced to Spike and offered a weak smile.

“So? Spill! Details!”

He frowned suspiciously. “About…?”

“You and Buffy. I want the full.”

“Uhhh…pet—”

“Don’t even give me that ‘nothing happened’ bull crap. You have something-face. Any woman knows it. Why do you think Kate was all bug-up-her-ass?” She held up a hand. “And, let me clarify, I mean ‘more-so-than-usual’ and her radar isn’t nearly as good as mine. Hello. If I had actually gone to college instead of working for my lame not-boss, I likely would’ve majored in dating.”

Spike grinned in spite of himself. “Yeah, you’re a right natural.”

“So talk! What happened?”

He shook his head and held up a hand. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m not one to kiss and tell.”

“Since when?”

“Since now. And for the record, pet, you and I haven’t been chums for long.”

She growled, even if there was a smile on her face. “Bah! I hate not knowing things. This is so unfair.”

Spike just smirked.

“Tell me!”

“It wasn’t like that,” he replied, shaking his head. Then he paused, remembering. “It was…she was in pain. She…what he’s done to her. And she was bleeding. She was bleeding because of him… And she begged me not to leave her. She didn’t even think I was real until the end.”

The tease in Cordelia’s gaze had fallen completely. She stepped forward and touched his arm. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll get her out.”

“Bloody right we will,” he growled. “I just don’t know how. It’s why I came here. It’s why…” He shook his head. “These things that they’ve got her tied up in… Angelus is the only wanker who can—”

“I know. You mentioned it earlier.”

“If it were anyone else, I’d knick it the old fashioned style. But I don’t know what I’m looking for. If it’s even in key-shape or what all.” A sigh depressed his shoulders, and he collapsed again into the lobby sofa. “But whatever we do, pet, it’s gotta be soon. I’ll be dust before I before I just stand aside and let him hurt her like that.”

Cordelia followed him, took his hand into hers, and patted the back of it in an almost sisterly fashion. “We’ll figure something out,” she said again, earning a weak, however grateful grin.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“You’re an all right bird.”

She smiled. “Naturally. You, too.”

Spike plastered on a pert grin. “Naturally,” he retorted in the same manner.

“Very funny.”

“You seemed to think so.” He pulled back and rose to his feet. “So, where did everyone get off to?”

“Zack and the others? Oh, they went by Caritas to see if you had decided to contact us again. Seemed kinda presumptuous to me. I mean, the Host called us last time.” She shrugged. “I think it’s because they’re bored, and being of the sitting duck clan, I can’t say I blame them. They also might’ve gone out to see if the Order’s hunting again.”

Spike nodded. “And the girlies?”

“Upstairs. I don’t think Nikki likes me.”

He snorted. “You and me both. I can see why.”

“Hey!”

“Well, seems you and Zangy have gotten close.”

“What makes you say that?”

“‘Zack and the others’?” he replied, arching an eyebrow. “Bloody interesting development, by the way. The chit’s probably worried about him, given all that happened. Either that or bloody resentful.”

Cordelia frowned. “Huh?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“They’ll probably be back soon if there’s no new info. Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

Spike sighed. “Yes, we will,” he declared with fierce determination. “God, I can’t take this. I see her every time I close my eyes. She begged me not to leave her, Cordy. She begged me not to let him take her again. I can’t bloody stand this.”

“We’ll get her out.”

He nodded. They had had this conversation a thousand times. It was time to do something about it.

A few minutes passed, filled with uncomfortable silence. Then Cordelia smiled and took a step toward him in an obvious attempt to cheer him up. “Actually, it’s going to be kinda sad,” she mused. “I mean, I’ve gotten used to you being around. And really, with as much as I like brooding Angel, you have a lot more personality.”

Spike sighed dramatically. He knew perfectly well what she was doing but took the bait anyway. It was the best option in such circumstances. “Cordy, if you’re madly in love with me, just say so.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh. Right. That’s it. You caught me.”

“Bloody knew it,” he replied. Whatever the motive, her method had worked. He was smiling again, not completely distracted, but distracted. “Though, by the smell of things, Zangy’s lucky I got my heart all given to someone else.”

There was a long pause and—for whatever reason—an adapted deer-in-headlights look. “What? I—”

Spike pointed to his nose. “Nothing incriminating,” he assured her with a grin. “Just enough to know you two have been spending some quality time together. Though honestly, pet, I thought you had better taste. You really fancy that arrogant wanker?”

“Who are you to be calling anyone arrogant?”

A pause. “Touché. Relax, I’m just teasing. He’s all right.”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a little smile.

“Hope it works out,” Spike said sincerely. “The git needs a little happiness.”

“Well, don’t book the church just yet. There’s not gonna be a wedding anytime soon.” Cordelia shook her head. “Really, we’re just flirting. You’re blowing everything out of proportion.”

“Right. Does he know that?”

“Of course. You’re really jumping the gun on this, buddy.”

“Yeah,” Spike agreed, not believing a word. “Here’s hoping, though.”

“Either way, they’ll be back soon.”

Spike nodded, his mind shifting back to where it spent most of its time. He hoped beyond hope that she was right. The Slayer was counting on them—on him—and he would be dust before he let her down.

There wasn’t a moment to spare.

*~*~*

 

Lindsey McDonald couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He remained cemented firmly in his seat as the images unfolded beat by beat on screen. He had heard Cordelia’s testimony—heard and hadn’t believed it. Yet here it was. The proof he had so desperately needed.

The look on Spike’s face betrayed him for everything he had tried to hide. The unbridled flashes of rage. The unmistakable self-loathing and guilt. There was no denying it. No twisting reality to fit his narrative.

No. The depth of feeling that Spike revealed with a glance spoke volumes. Lindsey knew those feelings well. That rattling in the pit of his stomach. The weary grinding at his heartstrings. The pain that greeted him every morning, knowing he was about to get ready for a job he didn’t want anymore. It was a frightening thing. Waking in the middle of the night to realize that, yes, this was his life. Yes. He did work for an evil corporation that killed children and kept women chained up in the basement. Yes. He was likely forever damned for things he had not done, things he would never do. Things that were tied to his name through association. Through the contract he had signed before developing scruples.

_Oh god._

Frightening indeed. Lindsey had no idea what had brought him here. Prompted him this far. He would like to have argued that his actions of the past seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was far from the truth. He would like to have stated that he hadn’t known what he was getting himself into, but he’d all but drafted the disclaimer himself. He would like to have believed he was a man of principle, someone who would never allow themselves to sink this far. And yet here he was. On top of the fucking world. So far elevated that all were deaf to his screams.

The vampire he was watching was not so different from himself. Spike. A demon who looked appalled at the darkness around him. It was true. Everything that McDonald had campaigned against was true. True and there, captured on camera.

He loved her. Spike loved the Slayer. Loved Buffy Summers. The very same Buffy Summers that Lindsey had all but tortured himself over in regard for her well-being. He loved her, and he was here to help.

And if the pictures before him revealed anything, Buffy was glad.

Very glad.

There had been tears, of course. Tears and blood. Tenderness. When Spike had touched her, he did so with reservation. But he had comforted her, best to his ability. He had found solace within her presence, soothed his rage only to be rekindled once more.

Fascinating what video could reveal.

The image fizzed and died as the tape matched its reel. Lindsey sat in silence for long seconds after, pondering what to do next. There was no telling who else among the Wolfram and Hart personnel had seen this. No noise of it was circulating in the hierarchy of the Special Projects committee, but ignorance of such things did not mean anything.

However, with the way things were going, Lindsey banked on Wolfram and Hart’s support. Not in the full way. The way that would guarantee the Slayer’s release—they couldn’t stand for that, especially with the apocalypse on the waiting list. No, the firm worked wholeheartedly against the greater good, even if things didn’t always go their way.

Angelus, Darla, and Drusilla hadn’t gone their way. In fact, they were a dangerous asset. Dangerous but too powerful to get rid of. And thus, while Wolfram and Hart would never consent to liberate Buffy Summers, Lindsey wondered if they would give a shit if she just…disappeared.

Either way, it was too dangerous to risk. The video had to be kept secret. That shouldn’t present much of a problem, he reckoned. Though other associates were aware that the videos existed, it was only Lindsey who took to viewing them every night. One tape shouldn’t make any difference.

Of course, in this building, one could never be too sure.

Things had gone far enough, and he was through waiting at the sidelines, ducking his head to be avoided. Time to throw himself into the thick of it. And the wisest way to do that would be an alliance with the very vampire he had wrongfully resented. To ask Spike’s assistance in the Slayer’s rescue.

There. While the burden was hardly lifted, Lindsey took the first breath of air that did not taste tainted. And it was wonderful.

He was determined then. No more waiting. No more idle twiddling.

Together, he and the vampire would get her out. Maybe then he would know some form of rest.

He had to try. He had to help. He had to get her out. He knew this.

Because it was right.

It was right.

And that was all that mattered.


	27. Beyond the Sleeping Refuge

"Umm," Cordelia said softly, her voice somehow breaking over the heated debate currently taking place in the Hyperion lobby. "I have a really bad idea, but I think it might work."

That was all the incentive Spike required. He promptly broke from conspiring with Wright and whirled on his feet. "Well then," he answered eagerly. "Let's hear it."

Cordelia nodded and cleared her throat, tossing a cautious glance at Wright. "Some of you aren't going to like it."

Gunn and Wesley stopped talking at once. Wright stiffened. Spike narrowed his eyes.

"Okay,” she said, “ _all_ of you aren't going to like it."

"Then don't tell us," Wright snapped. "We'll think of something else."

"There isn't time to think of something else," she argued. "Even if it is a bad idea. It just might be the only idea we come up with."

Gunn arched an eyebrow. "Ummm...just for the record...how bad are we talking?"

"It involves me being used as leverage."

That was it. End of discussion. "No," Wesley, Wright and Gunn chimed together.

Cordelia rolled her eyes and jumped to her feet. There had been little variation in the conversation since the others had gotten back from Caritas. People talking over each other, not coming to any conclusions.

Just, in Spike’s opinion, wasting a lot of bloody time.

And Spike knew he had to get the hell out of here soon. He’d been here too long already. Angelus and the others would be wondering where he was.

"Puhlease," Cordelia said, rolling her eyes. "As all of you know, there's nothing Angelus likes more than live bait."

"Which is exactly why you're not going to be bait," Wright all but growled.

"I must agree," Wesley said. "I don't like the idea of—"

"You haven't even heard my idea."

Wesley nodded. "Yes, well, by suggestion alone, I am prone not to like it."

"Gotta say, Cordy," Gunn agreed, shaking his head. "I'm agreein' with Scary and English, here. We're already short one slayer that I've never met but have, somehow, developed a life-and-death-interest in." He tossed a brief glance to Spike, who smirked at him, even if it was a shadow of his usual showiness.

Wright frowned. "Scary?"

"Spur of the moment."

"What, and I don’t qualify?" Spike glared at Gunn. "And you can always call him Zangy, Charlie. Seems to irritate just enough."

Gunn scowled. "Stop calling me that."

"Guys. The point. Remember?" Cordelia waved. "Listen, I know everyone here's not exactly onboard the Bad Plan Train, but really—and to both reiterate and state the more than obvious—we're running out of time."

"I don't wanna get you hurt, pet," Spike said softly. "Don't get me wrong, I'll do anything to get her out, but—"

She shook her head. "You guys seriously don't think that I've lived every day since working for Angel and not thought about what I might eventually have to do? Granted, I really hadn't given much thought to Evil Incorporated plus two major undead hussies involved—and Buffy, never woulda saw that coming—but I can do this."

"No," Wright said shortly. His voice carried a note of finality.

Cordelia's gaze narrowed. "Listen," she said shortly. "I don't know if you heard me, but there's not exactly a long list of options. And I can so take care of myself. I've been doing it for a long time, Zack." She held her hand up before her other colleagues could object again. "And you two oughta know me well enough by know to guess that whatever you say's not going to work. And I'm not worried. My plan involves Spike—which you'd know if you'd let me tell you—and I know he'd never let me get hurt."

Spike shuffled uncomfortably and opted for a noncommittal, "Thanks," before looking away.

"Not that I wanna say you can't trust him," Gunn offered, holding up a hand. "But you're putting a lot on faith here. Spike's only one vamp, and Angel's a bad mother with, as you said, Hell Incorporated supporting him. If, say, he gets in kill-mode and has Darla and Dru help him out…"

"I can handle Dru," Spike said, but the thought made his insides squirm. "If it comes down to it."

"And it probably will," Wesley stated.

"I'll handle it." Spike sighed and shook his head. "It’s not like I'd wanna hurt her or anything. Despite everything that's happened, Dru's...well, she'll always be a part of me. But that doesn't mean I won't stake her if she stands between me and Buffy."

"She's a monster," Wright said softly.

"She's also my..." He paused, exhaled dramatically. "Let's just say it'd be no easier for any of you to kill the first chit you loved, would it? Doesn't matter how bloody monstrous she is, or even that I don't love her anymore. I just don' wanna kill her. But I will if that's what it comes down to."

"I don't think we could ask any more," Cordelia said before anyone else could get a word in. Then she turned her attention to the others. "And I'm doing this whether you want me to or not. Spike can help me if it comes down to it. So deal. Okay?"

Wright made a noise of disgust and turned away.

"Might help if you'd clarify what this is," Wesley suggested.

"Well, Spike's going to take me to Wolfram and Hart," she said. "Not now, but soon. And when I say soon, I mean tomorrow at the latest. I'd still like for him to talk to Lindsey and figure out if we have any alternatives." Her eyes narrowed at Spike. "Which I expect you to do directly when you get back, okay?"

Despite the severity of the conversation, he found it within himself to answer with a cheeky, "Yes, Mum."

Gunn perked a brow. "I'm not liking this, already."

"Neither am I," Wright said, back turned to them.

"Well..." Cordelia frowned. "Tough. Anyway, in my plan, Spike would give me to Angelus—"

"I see your _not liking_ and raise you a _hating_ ," Wright told Gunn, then turned to Cordelia, his eyes blazing. "Are you out of your mind? He'd rip you apart in seconds. Or worse—"

"Or worse, he'd do to me what he's done to Buffy," she volunteered. "I know."

"You're crazy."

"No," Wesley intervened, staring at Cordelia as though he’d never seen her before. "She's... Cordelia, when on earth did you become so noble?"

She smirked. "Gee, thanks."

"I mean no offense, but—"

"Yeah, yeah. Two years ago, I was ready to kill Buffy to be Homecoming Queen. My, how not being in high school or having any friends changes people." A determined sigh sounded through her lips. "But I don't think it's going to come to that. Slayer or not, she didn't know what she was up against when what happened to her happened. I do. I know exactly what I'm doing and what the odds are. And, if this goes accordingly—"

"Hold it right there," Spike barked, his eyes wide. "Bloody hell, I thought you Sunnyhell alums knew not to jinx yourselves like that."

Cordelia covered her mouth. "Oh god. Sorry."

"That's it, pet. Deal's off."

"What? No! I didn't even finish my sentence."

"You jinxed yourself," Gunn added hopefully, though it was clear he wasn’t sure what he was saying. "Can't risk it now."

"You guys suck. I'm doing it." Cordelia leveled her eyes with Spike's. "And you're gonna help me, or else I'll be doing it alone."

Spike wove a tapestry of obscenities under his breath with a dejected sigh. Wright still refused to look at her.

"I'm going to be struggling too much for Angelus to have much to do with me," Cordelia continued, still focused on Spike. "And you're gonna help me. Of course, you'll have to do the thing where you're trying not to be obvious in the fact that you're helping me. In fact, you'll actually have to pretend like you're helping Angelus. Then you can pull your pit-pocketing stunt and get me outta there."

The entire lobby fell silent for long seconds.

"That," Gunn said, disbelievingly, "is your plan?"

"Yes."

"Cordy...that's awful."

"But worth it." She glanced to Wright. His expression was stony at best. "Spike told me he's good at petty theft—"

"Yeah," the vampire agreed hotly. If this was the girl’s big plan, she was off her rocker. "I also told you that robbing the sod is bloody suicide. I'm not about to put you in that kinda danger if that's all you got up your sleeve."

"If he's preoccupied with me, and in the middle of a struggle, he won't notice."

"Bollocks."

"Spike, do we really have any other options right now?"

Wright, apparently unable to stand still a moment longer, prowled forward, his face contorted with something between rage and fear. "Other than stupid schemes that will not only result in a dead Buffy, but a dead Cordy as well? I can't believe you'd actually consider doing this."

"Believe it," she snapped.

"You're going to get yourself killed."

"I so am not."

Wright closed another couple spaces between them. "You're not invincible, Cordelia! You go in there and try to pull this bullshit, he's going to fucking tear you limb from limb and fuck what's left over."

Gunn winced. "Let's not get crude or anything."

"Worry less about my being crude and more about her being a fucking idiot."

Spike fought the urge to wince. He might not be too skilled at the ins and outs of human courtship, but he didn’t think that line was going to play too well.

As he expected, Cordelia was nearly vibrating with fury. She had that _if looks could stake_ expression that Buffy had so often worn, only the full of it was aimed at Wright, who, idiot that he was, didn’t look intimidated.

Spike sighed. That there had been a brief romance. And here he’d been pulling for them.

"Maybe,” Cordelia said in a dangerous tone, “being a fucking idiot is better than being proactive instead of reactive. This is the best that we can do, and for your information, nobody asked your permission. There's this little thing called learning from your mistakes. Since you obviously haven't taken that step yet, I'm going to have to take it for you. Learn from your mistake and not stand by twiddling my thumbs while a girl gets fucking raped and tortured and god knows what else every single day."

A cold, callous breeze filtered through the air. Wright matched her gaze with such intensity that Spike wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit her, scream at her, kiss her, or rip her head off. In the end, he opted for none of these, and instead turned on his heel and marched toward the staircase.

Wright had only been gone seconds when Gunn decided to lighten the air. "And again," he said uneasily, "I'm out of the loop."

Wesley frowned. "I believe I am, too."

Spike said nothing at first. He watched his friend disappear to the upper levels of the Hyperion, drew in another unneeded breath, and turned Cordelia with more of the same. "Pet—"

She turned to him sharply. "Don't. Just go. Go to Lindsey, figure out if there's something else you can do. If not, just come back and get me."

"I don't like this."

"Well, I don't, either, but I'm not going to stand back and do nothing." She glanced wordlessly to the staircase. "Not now that I've seen what they're capable of."

Spike followed her gaze. "Zangy—"

"He'll have to deal, okay? I'm not doing this to spite him. He's just not used to a woman in charge."

"Nikki," Gunn pointed out.

Spike snickered. "Wrong kind of 'in charge', mate."

Cordelia shook her head. "Whatever Zack's problems are, they're his, not ours.”

"Right," Spike agreed solemnly, and nothing more would be said on the matter.

The note that settled over the Hyperion as he took his leave was somber at best. There would be no peace between any of them while things remained as they were. They were beginning to war with themselves, which was never good.

Buffy could not be saved while her rescuers had nothing better to do than argue.

And for the moment, that was what kept Spike going. Flashing back to her face. The way her skin felt under his touch. The way she whimpered into his mouth. The way she’d begged him not to leave her.

It was time then.

Time.

Spike wanted to be certain that when she next made that request of him, he could fulfill it. Now through eternity. Cordelia's offer notwithstanding, it kept him motivated. Kept him moving forward.

Kept him resolved on the understanding that he would get her out. No matter what it took. No matter what it cost.

She was worth it.

*~*~*

 

It was a miracle that he could see where he was going, much less make it to his bedroom. The years had taught him many things—namely to trust his senses. He didn’t recall a time he’d ever been blinded by fury, not even after Amber had been murdered. Then, he’d channeled his rage into fuel. He hadn’t allowed himself to stop.

Now was an entirely different matter. The raw bluntness of his outrage had nothing on its intensity. The past two days had been hell enough on his conscience without adding an argument with a woman he barely knew to the list, even if it was over her determination to do something that scared the shit out of him.

His feelings for Cordelia were admittedly jumbled. Though she was practically a stranger, she possessed the ability to strip him down more thoroughly than anyone before her. He didn’t know if he liked that. Actually, he was pretty sure he hated it. Life had been hard enough without worrying about developing feelings for another woman.

He had never resented Amber for putting him in this position. He would trade what they had shared for nothing, but those years with her had—he’d thought—ruined him forever for others. And he’d been okay with that. He’d wanted that. Amber was the only woman he’d ever loved or ever wanted to love. Even looking at someone else felt wrong.

What he had known with his wife was the closest thing to fairytale perfection he figured anyone had ever come. That wasn't to say they went their daily lives without the expected squabbles and fights over this and that. But it was homey. Happy. Even toward the end, when he’d been a dumbass who had worried more about money than his wife’s feelings. When his own deep-rooted sense of inadequacy had fueled the devil on his shoulder, making an ugly part of him resent the baby growing inside her, and her for not understanding how desperate their situation was. One kid had nearly bankrupted them. A second might have finished the job. But even then, even when he’d been so entirely stupid, he’d known he had a fairytale. Because there was no Zack without Amber. He’d never wanted anything or anyone else.

And losing her and their child had destroyed him. More than that, it had left him shell-shocked. They had never had any enemies. No jealous exes, no scorned lovers, no greedy coworkers—nothing. That shit happened in the movies, not in his world. So even when Darla had entered the picture, even when he sensed she was unbalanced, he hadn’t taken her seriously.

Seven long years had passed since he’d lost his wife. Since he'd felt anything but cold, the drive to go on. There was love, of course. Love for Rosalie. Hell, he loved his daughter with everything he was, even when he thought himself empty of everything but resentment and fury. He’d sworn off sex after that one crazy night in San Antonio but had never bothered to swear off the idea of loving another woman, because the thought alone had been too ridiculous to give serious thought.

Then he’d met Cordelia and he had no idea how he’d gotten himself into this fucking mess. But it felt like he was betraying Amber. Betraying a woman seven years dead by allowing himself to feel.

Cordelia had tapped into whatever part of the old Zack he had left. He didn't know what to do with himself. If there was anything to do. It was wrong but it wasn't. He hated her and himself for feeling the way he did. And a part of him hated Amber, too, for not letting him go. For haunting him now. For showing him what happened to people he was dumb enough to love.

He hadn’t had a choice but to love Rosalie and he’d promised he wouldn’t love anyone else. Not even Nikki.

Then Cordelia had fucked that up. Not necessarily because he thought he loved her now, but because he knew—he felt—that he could.

Cordelia, who was preparing to do something entirely stupid.

She was going to let herself die.

_Fucking women._

Not only that, she’d had the audacity to throw his own reservation back at him. That alone was enough to make him want to wring her neck, even if it would do no good. Very little could be said or done for headstrong women, Cordelia was definitely that. Much more so than Amber had ever been. She didn’t fight hurt; she fought mad.

She fought like him.

Nikki had never argued with him like this, either. They had their fights, of course, but she always deferred to him in the end. She trusted his judgment. After all, it was what had kept them alive all these years.

Cordelia blatantly refused to see that.

And it was going to get her killed. He couldn't lose her now. Not to Darla. Not with these stupid ass feelings he had for her.

If he lost her, he feared he would never recover.

A gentle knock on the already-open door broke him from his thoughts. He knew it was her without needing to turn, and he stiffened. He was in no place to talk to her just yet.

Not that she cared. She’d do whatever she wanted, no matter how ill-advised.

_That's not fair,_ his mind warned.

"Well fine," she said when he offered no greeting. "I'm coming in whether you want me to or not."

Wright's eyes narrowed. "You're good at doing things I'd rather you not."

There was a pained sigh. "Look—"

He held up a hand, still refusing to face her. "I don't wanna hear it."

"I'm sorry, okay? But it has to be done."

Zack heaved a sigh and hung his head, some part of him conceding defeat. "Why bother talking at all? Why bother anything?"

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't like this."

"Well, it doesn't!" At that, he twisted sharply on the mattress, feeling naked and vulnerable and a bunch of other shit he hadn’t known he could still feel. More of that resentment bubbled. He hated that she made him feel like this—out of control and emotional and powerless. It wasn’t fair. "This is insane, Cordy."

"Yeah. Getting that."

"And you don't care. You really don't care."

"Care? Care that I might get killed to the ninth degree or worse? Of course I care." She took a few steps forward, not covering the space between them but not backing down either. Her gaze remained locked on his. "But I'm not going to let Angelus win because I'm afraid."

"This isn't the only option."

"I know it's not. Or maybe it is. Maybe we waited too long and all the other options are gone. Point being, it's the only one we've got right now. We don't have time to sit around and wait for something else to spring to mind." Then she was moving again, and the next thing he knew, the mattress dipped with her weight, and she’d taken his hand. "I've been too selfish all my life to let that stop me now."

Wright trembled, pretty damn sure he was going to lose control entirely. He didn’t want to know what that looked like. "It's dumb," he whispered. "It's too dumb."

"It'll be all right. Spike'll be there."

An inarticulate snort. "Yeah, that’s not exactly comforting. Spike's not the best example for...anything."

"He wouldn't let me get hurt."

"He's—"

"For the love of god, don't tell me what he is. I know what he is. Hell, one of what he is—up until recently—signed my paycheck. It doesn't matter." Her grip on him tightened. "And you know it. Spike doesn't like to admit that he's got a conscience, but he does. He's...for whatever reason, he's become a friend. To all of us. Even you."

Wright looked up sharply at that, a thousand used and abused objections waiting on his tongue, but none of them tasted like they had a few days ago. Fuck, now that he thought about it, he was tired. Tired of pretending, ignoring. Tired of being a fucking demon hunter. He’d wasted too many years in the cold winter of his own discontent. Thawing back to life was a tiresome, nearly painful process.

"I know," he said softly.

And the weight of the world fell down upon him. A collapse—a confession. He hadn't asked for this—hadn't wanted to trust Spike. Hadn't wanted to lose himself all over again. Hadn't asked his unlikely friend and the woman currently cradling his arm to tap back into his compassion. He hadn't wanted it, goddammit. And yet here he was.

"I don't want you to get hurt," he whispered softly.

Cordelia smiled and pat his hand. "I won't."

"You can't know that."

"Well, I'm pretty stubborn, you see. When I put my mind to something, I don't rest until I see it through."

"This has to be the dumbest plan ever."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, I don't know. I never got through telling you all my adventures a la Sunnydale."

Wright nodded and closed his hand around hers, braving her eyes at last. "Tell me when it's over," he said.

A smile at that and a nod for agreement. "Sounds like a plan."

Yeah. A plan. Seemed to be a lot of those going around.

He would allow it, of course. He had to. He had no place intervening, and no authority over her. She was determined, and Cordelia determined was its own force of nature.

He would just have to hope she knew what she was doing.

*~*~*

Spike knew it was stupid so soon, but the minute he set foot inside Wolfram and Hart, there was no other truth. He had to see her again.

At times like these, he wondered if he did himself more harm than good simply by being in existence. His judgment was not exactly reputable and he had a tendency to get himself in trouble simply by opening his mouth. And yet, despite his awareness of such things, he could not help himself. It was beyond reproach. Like the bloody moth to the bloody flame, he was drawn to her. He needed to see her, to be near her. To see she was still alive.

Such was his determination that he didn't think to check on the others. Make sure Dru was entertained, that Darla and Angelus were torturing someone else or fucking each other’s brains out. In these last days, his patience had all but plummeted. And while logic attempted to throw itself at any open window, he didn’t stand still long enough to give it a fair shake.

He had to bloody see her.

Though he wasn’t a complete idiot about it. As he drew nearer to her torture chamber, his senses went on high alert. Angelus's scent wafted in the dreary downstairs, but it was an old smell. Old enough to tell Spike that his wanker of a grandsire wasn’t in there at the moment. That was all he needed to push him onward.

He’d just pop in. Check to make sure she was all right. Couldn’t hurt, after all. Just one peek.

Except it couldn’t be just one peek.

Spike would have thought the shock of seeing Buffy in her current state would have dulled a bit, not cut through him quite as deeply. He’d had time to get used to it, seeing as he saw her every time he closed his eyes. She haunted every corner of his psyche.

But no. He was wrong. Seeing her sliced through his every nerve. As though he was bleeding eternally for every one of the lives he had ever destroyed, and could never find solace in death.

Spike felt his chest tighten as his demon roared to life. A rush of hatred so fucking pure it would have poisoned a normal bloke seized his veins, and at once, it was hard to stand still. To look at her and not immediately hunt down the bastard that had done this to her. To see her and know he couldn’t help. Not yet.

Yet her eyes lit up when she saw him. And for that, he would touch the sun.

"Spike."

He couldn't stop himself if he tried. In seconds, he had paraded to her taken her face between his hands. Sore eyes did not wish to inspect her for new scars. He didn’t want her to see his rage. That face wasn’t for her. "Told you I'd be back."

"Real."

Spike smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah, love. I'm real."

Buffy pulled back at that, tears flooding her eyes that he could not bear. God, how was it that he always ended up the source of such pain when all he wanted to do was wish it away?

But he saw, after a moment, that there was no hurt behind her gaze. Rather, there was awe.

"I thought I had dreamed you," she whispered. "I thought..."

"I know, baby."

"But you're here. Not a dream."

"Not a dream."

"Real." The word escaped her a tortured gasp.  "You're really real."

"That's right."

"Here for me."

"Only for you." He pulled back, dropping his hands to his sides again. "And the cavalry's on its way, Buffy. Soon. All right?"

She nodded, though it was clear she didn't understand. "You're very strange," she informed him.

A strangled chuckle fought through his throat. "You don't know the half of it."

"Here for me." She tilted her head. "Spike, why? Please tell me."

And there it was. The open window. She had given it to him before, but he had not leaped through. Something about the timing. Something about everything there was to have reservations about. But she had not flinched away from him then, and she was not now. The tears she sported now, while shards against his nonbeating heart, were not the product of pain.

She could never feel the way he did—he stood by that. But she deserved to know. She deserved to know something.

Even if the timing could never be appropriate. If not now, then not when she was recuperating. If not then, then not on the drive home. If not home, then never. He would take his love to the end of the world before he scared her off with it.

But it had to be said. At least once, if never again.

"Buffy," he began, heart in his throat. "I—"

An intrusive scent hit the air and squeezed his throat shut. Something that stirred his monster to life with more enthusiasm than he had known in his long years, such that he feared it would burst free and cast his skin aside.

"Well, well," Angelus said from his place at the doorway. "Isn't this interesting?"


	28. World on Fire

Living in a world such as he did, Lindsey McDonald did not like to depend on the fear of the possible, but in watching the monitors that had held his captive interest for what seemed like weeks, he could not tear himself away. Seeing her dangle there. The proverbial worm on a hook. Reminding himself needlessly in his role. In his position that seemed to worsen by the minute.

Then something had happened. Spike had appeared on camera. William the Bloody. The same vamp Lindsey had tried to kill, who was now, for all intents and purposes, his best friend in the building.

There was no denying the fevered look in the vampire’s eyes. This was a man in love.

Thank god for that.

Of course, it didn’t take long for Lindsey’s attention to shift to one of the other feeds. And then his relief had taken a hiatus. Because Angelus was approaching, and he did not look happy.

Decisions from that point were fast making. Lindsey spared himself little room to think about it. He hurried out of his seat and rushed to the cabinet that lined the wall. There wasn’t enough time to peruse his selection, but he supposed it didn’t matter. As long as he could pass it for believable.

Lindsey refused to fool himself. He knew that what he was about to do could potentially get Buffy killed, not to mention himself. It could also undo everything his unlikely allies at Angel Investigations—which they should consider renaming—had worked toward. And it would be Spike’s fault. Not that Lindsey didn’t understand, of course. Had Buffy been the woman he loved, knowing what she was going through would have rightly driven him out of his mind. Hell, it _had_ driven him out of his mind; he couldn’t begin to think of how much worse the last few days would have been had he been in love with her. So in that respect, Lindsey admired Spike’s restraint.

Of course, if he got Buffy killed, Lindsey might just have to stake him himself.

In later days, Lindsey would wonder how he managed to race the seemingly endless miles to the bowels of Wolfram and Hart without running into obstacles, especially with the gnarly instrument in his hand. At the moment, however, he didn’t care. Nothing mattered except getting to her. To him. To both of them before Angelus decided to act.

As he approached the final hall, Lindsey forced his long strides to a hasty walk, panting entirely too much. He heard Angelus speaking—his words coated with that mocking condescension he wore so well.

The elder vampire’s back was to him at present. Lindsey paused and considered. Had he brought something made of wood, this would have been the chance to beat all others. To finally get something done. However, even before he could resent himself for not having considered it, he realized that any such attempt would be tantamount to suicide. Angelus knew he was there. He hadn’t lived as long as he had or developed the sort of reputation he so enjoyed by being an idiot.

Plus, Cordelia’s good faith or not, Lindsey didn’t trust Spike to stand between him and Angelus should the older vampire decide to sample lawyer meat.

Infinitely better this way. At least he would know where he stood.

“Now, now,” Lindsey said in a tone much calmer than he felt, “don’t be cranky. The Slayer is a guest of Wolfram and Hart’s, after all.”

Angelus turned, his eyes narrowed. “Lindsey,” he said slowly, “so glad you could join us. I was wondering if you could help me as I’m having trouble with this picture. Spike here has taken it upon himself to snoop around what’s mine. But that’s not what bothers me. Not really. You see, I always thought you and I were friends. Good friends. Close enough that we would never keep anything from each other. And yet he insists that you gave him permission.” He tilted his head, his gaze daring him to lie. Or confirm it. It could go either way. “Don’t you think it interesting?”

Lindsey released a steadying breath and shifted his attention to Spike, and saw they understood each other.

“I didn’t think you’d mind,” he replied, all too calmly. “After all, your reservations in keeping the Slayer’s presence a secret from our newest acquisition was a question of character. I think last night proved his loyalty.”

He had done it. In two minutes, Lindsey had siphoned all of Angelus’s attention from Spike and embraced it for himself.

Angelus’s gaze had darkened, his bulking body pivoting face him in full. “You went against me,” he said very softly.

“Actually, Angel, had you read our contract, you would see that I was entirely within company policy in part of my actions.” Lindsey thought he sounded much calmer than he felt. He knew that everyone present—likely including the Slayer—could feel the race in his pulse, but that did not stop him from continuing. “Spike has every right to your…guest.” He hated that word. “Just as much as you do. He is no more out of line than Darla and Drusilla were when they interviewed her prior to your sessions.”

Angelus’s eyes looked damn near black now. “You know me, Lindsey,” he said. The worse thing about his voice was the lack of a snarl. There was anger because there was anger. Just because. He needed nothing else to get his point across. “I do not favor being treated like any other client.”

“Well, you see, the Senior Partners are concerned.” That lie was easy enough. The Senior Partners were often concerned about something. “They wanted you to be sure that you knew whose playing field you were on. This isn’t what you’re used to, Angelus. This is a whole new ballgame. And we have an interest in meeting the needs of all our associations.” He nodded at Spike, who had, for whatever reason, enough sense about him to remain silent. “Your colleague said he was bored. We thought it best to give him something to do. Rest assured, that’s as far as it’s gone. He doesn’t have the…liberties that you so enjoy.”

Angelus seemed to consider this, then glanced down at the device in Lindsey’s grasp. “Mhmm. And what is that for?”

He had nearly forgotten he was holding anything. Lindsey held up the instrument, doing his damndest to ignore the whimper that tellingly spilled from Buffy’s lips, as well as the rattle of her chains as she shifted.

“Well,” he said, fearing his voice’s betrayal, “you have a variety of devices that you refuse to share with anyone. Spike expressed an interest in developing his own collection. I thought to start with this.” Lindsey glanced at Spike, who looked to tear his head off for even suggesting such a thing. “It’s medieval,” he explained, mind immediately racing to the vaults of otherwise useless information stored there from his college days. “You said you wanted something rustic. They call this The Spider. It was forged from iron to resemble a spider, as you might have guessed. We’ll need to heat it until the iron glows. It’s used most commonly to mutilate or even tear off a woman’s breast.”

Spike glared at him a minute longer, but his expression changed the second Angelus looked his way. Immediately, he adopted a look of interest. “Right,” he said. “Well isn’t this nifty? Whaddya think, Angelus? Do your girl proper, wouldn’t you reckon? Promise I won’t hurt her too much. You were a bloody selfish bastard in your day. Had to have all the best screamers for yourself.”

“Buffy isn’t a screamer,” Angelus said. He raked his eyes up her naked, abused body. “Much.”

Spike smirked. “Well, what can I say, mate?” he retorted, “some Slayers are fickle like that. Needing a real man to help ‘em hit those high notes.”

Angelus glanced to the Spider with a perked brow. “And you think this is going to help you? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You always were one for toys.”

Spike shrugged. “What can I say? I just like them.”

Something raspy and tainted perturbed the air. It tore at Lindsey’s chest—but not so much that he missed the agony that flickered across Spike’s face. And again, to his credit, he covered it up before Angelus could see it.

What she said, though, amazingly made the younger vampire smile. Soft, poignant, and ringing with the hint of an inside joke. “They…they make him feel all manly.”

Angelus arched an eyebrow. “Is that a fact?”

Spike snickered. “Told her as much myself once. Don’t worry, Angelus. You’ll get her back.” With that, he seized the Spider from Lindsey’s grasp and held it up. “In mostly one piece.”

“You flatter yourself,” Angelus snarled, “if you think I’m going to allow this.”

“And you flatter yourself,” Lindsey said, stepping forward bravely, “if you think you’re in any position to stop it. Face it, Angel, you’re not the head honcho around here. The Senior Partners want to you remember that. Spike has every right to torture the Slayer. He is a part of the Order.”

Angelus cocked his head, eyes forming slits. “He also, up until recent, claimed to be in love with her. Right up until the time we told him she’d kicked the bucket. Yet here he is, and here she is, and here you are. Isn’t that convenient?” He smiled a nasty smile. “You’re not stupid, are you, Lindsey?”

Lindsey’s heart thudded against his ribcage. Still, his voice didn’t shake when he spoke. “If you’re planning that route, you’d have to say the same about yourself.”

“Maybe you _are_ stupid.”

“Maybe I am. I’m also in charge here. Kill me or don’t, my contract’s not going anywhere. And neither is yours.” Lindsey waited a beat, then forced himself to pull his gaze from Angelus long enough to nod at Spike. “Wolfram and Hart contracts are binding.”

If he were standing anywhere else, if Buffy weren’t here, Lindsey might have laughed. Angelus was very clearly not used to being bossed around. He wasn’t used to restraint. Not used to _not_ ripping off the heads of his enemies after first driving them mad.

It’d be a fun experiment to put a chip in _that_ head.

“You have to go home at some point,” Angelus said at last.

“Still Wolfram and Hart, my friend. Kill me or—”

“I never said anything about killing you. Just that you have to go home at some point.” He smiled a nasty smile. “Who knows what could happen there?”

“You’re not invited.”

“Pity. I was so hoping.”

The next happened all too quickly. Lindsey found himself pressed against the cold surface of the wall, a very dangerous vampire snarling with too much interest at his throat.

“I don’t appreciate being played,” he growled. “And I don’t give a damn about your Senior Partners. You know what troubles me, Lindsey? The idea that I can’t trust you. I mean—honestly—here I am, playing nice, and the minute my back is turned, you’re making arrangements that you know are just going to Piss. Me. Off.” He enunciated each word with a forceful blow against the wall, eyes blazing but not yellow. “It makes me feel, oh, I dunno, betrayed. And I don’t like feeling betrayed.”

Lindsey gasped for air as the vampire threatened to steal it from him altogether, but refused to lose the edge to his voice that gave him some sort of authority. “I suppose you could allow me to rectify it.”

“Wouldn’t advise it, mate,” Spike suggested, eyebrows perked as he reached for his cigarettes. “You might make Big Daddy even angrier than he is now.”

Angelus tossed him a mildly inquisitive glance.

“What?” Spike stretched out his arms, cigarette dangling from his lips. “I’m on your bloody side, here. Kill the wanker, don’t kill the wanker. It’s your bloody business. I’m just in it for the fun.” He glanced to the Spider he held with sparkling eyes. “But let me play with that a bit, either way you choose to go. Fair’s fair and all.”

“Kill me and you just have the Senior Partners to contend with,” Lindsey answered, gasping for breath and successfully drawing attention back to himself. “And trust me, Angel, you don’t want that. At least with me, you have some leeway. They won’t put up with you like I have.”

Angelus tightened his grip. “Oh, I dunno. We could always find out.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Just do what you’re gonna do and let me get to it. I’m bored.”

Angelus snickered and tossed a half-interested glance over his shoulder. “You wanna torture the Slayer, boy, there’s nothing stopping you.”

A muffled whimper rumbled from the girl in question, but no one answered her.

Spike offered a petulant pout. “It’s no fun with you here.”

That was it. Angelus vampire released Lindsey without another word, disregarding him like an unwanted toy. As Lindsey slid to the floor in a heap, his lungs heaving for air, the elder vampire put his back to him. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone,” he mused. “Especially with what happened the last time.”

Spike sighed. “You gonna hold that against me forever?”

“I don’t take well to those who form alliances with Slayers. Especially when it involves me not ending the world.”

“Oh, but you’re perfectly content with your bloody star-crossed love affair, suppose? And I wasn’t the one making googly eyes at her after she sent me to Hell. Point of fact, I haven’t been there as of late.”

“You couldn’t survive it.”

Spike cocked his head with interest, blowing out a pillar of smoke. “If memory serves, neither did you. It was your less interesting half that cashed that ticket.”

From somewhere deep within himself, Lindsey found the strength to rise to his feet, good hand caressing his throat. “Point being, Angel,” he said, “you don’t have a say in the matter. Spike is permitted at least an hour uninterrupted—less if he chooses, but I’ll leave that up to him. You can make all the fuss you like; it doesn’t change anything. And despite how much you care to talk, I don’t think meeting the Senior Partners is on your bucket list. Work for us or work against us. But from the sound of things, if you choose the latter, you and yours are going to be on the outs. If the Senior Partners don’t do you in, your friends at Angel Investigations will.”

“Oh yeah,” Angelus replied, snickering. “They terrify me.”

“Maybe they should. Word has it that they’re building artillery enough to take you out of the picture for good.”

Angelus snorted again. “Do you listen when you talk? How can you stand the whine?”

“I’m just hoping you’ll look at this logically. You’ve made a lot of enemies in this town. Some demon, others not. And your former friends are not without their resources. And that’s only if Wolfram and Hart doesn’t step in first.” Lindsey rubbed his throat absently. “Deals around here aren’t made to be broken. You know that. You agreed to it. Like it or not, it’s our house, our rules.”

There was nothing after that, and for a moment, Lindsey was sure he was breathing his last breaths. But Angelus didn’t attack. Didn’t lunge. Didn’t taunt. Instead, he just stared, and he let that stare do his talking for him.

Instead, he turned slowly and left the room.

Lindsey didn’t feel victorious as he might have expected. If anything, he felt close to passing out, either from an adrenaline crash or the crushing knowledge that he’d just crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. Angelus was not meant to play second fiddle to anyone. It was only a matter of time before he convinced Darla that what the firm really needed was a repeat of Holland’s dinner party.

Wolfram and Hart might operate in other worlds and other planes, and they might be bigger than the Order of Aurelius, but they also had rules. Angelus, Darla and Dru did not.

And Angelus didn’t walk away from confrontation. He might postpone his retort, but it would come, and it would be bloody.

Lindsey didn’t move until he was certain Angelus was well out of earshot, and that only came when Spike shifted at last.

“This,” the vampire said, throwing the Spider to the ground at Lindsey’s feet, “never comes near her again. You hear me?”

Lindsey nodded. “I didn’t actually mean for you to—”

“I know. Just a friendly warning, mate.” A sigh rumpled through his body. “She’s seen enough without putting more ideas in that wanker’s head.”

Another nod. This one of understanding rather than agreement. Lindsey still refused to look at Buffy, admiring her for her silence. He feared losing what little control he had left if he studied the thing she’d become in person. He also worried that one look would root him to the spot; he would keep his eyes fastened on her with morbid fascination. Nothing more than a rubbernecker.

“You’re really here for her?” he asked Spike instead.

“Yeah. You really gonna help?”

“Yes.”

“Right then. Guess we have some talking to do.”

At that, a muted whimper touched the air, and Spike began walking backward immediately, not taking his eyes off Lindsey. “But first I’d like that hour with my girl. No bloody interruptions.”

Lindsey tilted his head. “I actually might have an idea. Nothing I was sure of until…well, if we get everyone in on it…but I need to do some research.”

“Right. You do the research.” Spike turned away from him at that, and from that moment, he was lost.

Lindsey knew enough to recognize that.

“I’ll be in my office,” he said. And then he sent himself away. So hasty to leave that he likely would have missed the vampire’s low but sincere thanks had he not bent to collect the Spider.

He had every intention of seeing it destroyed before Angelus thought to ask.


	29. Breathe Into My Pain

“You all right, love?”

It was the first thing that left his lips, and it sounded stupid to his own damn ears. What sort of question was that?

He wasn’t surprised, then, when she laughed.

“Oh yeah,” she said in a voice that almost sounded like her own. “I’m swell.”

Spike swallowed hard, feeling at once like the world’s biggest prat. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know.” Buffy leaned forward until her brow was pressed to his, her eyes—clear now in ways they hadn’t been before—soaking him in. Fuck, she looked like she…

He swallowed again. “Slayer—”

“Can you…can you kiss me?” She looked away the moment the words left her, and he watched, mesmerized, as her skin flushed. “I need to know you’re real.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He seized her cheeks between his hands and drew her mouth to his, every inch of him breaking into bloody song. It wasn’t real, he knew. It could never be real. But he could pretend for a while.

“You’re sweet,” she murmured against his lips.

Spike blinked and pulled back. “I’m what?”

She did not answer, rather looked at him with eyes like saucers. Eyes that could tempt him to his last strand of decency.

It was awe. Bright, blinding awe. Awe behind her gaze. Behind her guarded thanks. Behind everything that had ever made him what he was or what he ought to be. There was no love—he would not delude himself. Buffy did not love him for this and did not know that he loved her, but there was something. Something warm and wonderful, amidst all the pain. And it astounded him. After everything she had seen him do, everything she knew him for, she could find it within herself to look at him like this.

“You’re real.”

Spike smiled. He couldn’t help it. Nimble, eager yet soft fingers traced her face. “Very.”

“You sent him away.”

At that, his chest hollowed. “He’ll be back, pet.”

“But you will, too. Be back.”

Spike nodded and leaned inward, unable to help himself. His empty lungs filled with her scent. “The next time you see me,” he whispered urgently, “it’ll be to take you away from here. You got it?”

“How?”

“There’s a plan, sweets.”

“Angelus…he has the…the only…”

He nodded again and brushed a kiss against her temple. “I know,” he murmured. “But Cordy’s thought of somethin’. Albeit, it’s not very good, but it’s something.”

Buffy fell silent for a few long seconds, her eyes heavy with burdened. “Spike…” she murmured. “You…you never told me.”

“Told you what, baby?”

“Why.” She pulled back at that, gaze burning him to his core.

He couldn’t help but swell with admiration. She was undoubtedly the strongest person he had ever known. The Slayer back and front when she wasn’t trying to be something else. A woman that didn’t know her own abilities. Buffy—the shadow of perfection that gave sunlight to those that did not know what to do with it. The determination he saw there was nothing short of extraordinary.

And though he knew the answer, he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it. Not now. “Why what?”

Buffy favored him with her best _get real_ look. “You hate me.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“But—”

“I don’t hate you, love,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“Then why?”

A sigh sounded through his lips, his resolve wavering. He had been ready to tell her. So ready until Angelus had interfered. Ready to detail his agonizing love for her in ways that would likely have her begging for the death Angelus kept promising.

But then, she had asked him to kiss her. She leaned into him when he neared. She had kissed him back. He had told himself that it was due to the circumstances, but the smallest part of him couldn’t help but wonder. But hope.

And hope was a bloody dangerous thing.

“You wouldn’t like it, pet.”

“Spike—”

“I don’t hate you. That’s all you need to know.”

Her lips parted and he knew she was about to protest, but she didn’t. Instead, she seemed to think the better of it. “I don’t either,” she said. “Hate you. I don’t think I ever have.”

“You don’t?”

“You’re…”

“Pet, you don’t have to prove anything to me. Ever. I’m not going anywhere. Hate me or not.”

“Before…” she murmured. “Before this…before—”

“Don’t try to talk if it hurts.”

“Why not? Everything hurts. And I need to.” She indulged a breath to compose herself. “Spike, before. When we…were before. Before all…before Angel…before—”

He nodded. “Before the wankers took you.”

“You were…I know I never…never said it…” Despite the determination on her face, it was more than obvious that the last thing she needed to be doing was attempting to speak.

“Pet—”

“Before. You were…good… You were… We were… It was different. And—”

“Buffy—”

A flash of irritation surged behind her eyes, and he couldn’t help but admire her for it. Nor could he help but smile at her forceful tone. That was his girl. “Would you let me talk? Please?”

That didn’t mean, however, that he would let her win. “You shouldn’t,” he told her. “Don’t worry yourself with me, love. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“No. In case… Just in case…”

Something cold fell within him. “Don’t,” he said harshly. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. We’re gonna get you outta here.”

“Just in case—”

“No.”

There it was. A plea. It nearly choked him—rightfully so.

But she didn’t listen. “Spike,” she gasped, breaking his nonbeating heart all over. “Please. I have to…just this. I need to know…you’ll…that you know how much I…” She paused to take a breath, raising her head slowly to meet his gaze. “Thank you. Thank you for…everything.”

Spike’s vision blurred. He searched for words but they wouldn’t come.

And sensing this, she smiled. “Don’t tell me I rendered _you_ speechless.”

He snickered inarticulately, glad for the lifeline. “Little more than that.”

There was a pause, but she nodded all the same. It was oddly formal—this meeting between two people who had shared so much without sharing anything at all. He ached to touch her, to make her feel better as he had before, but his will forbade it. He would not touch her without permission.

And even if she did, he had to keep it clear in his head that it had nothing to do with him. Last time, she’d wanted to feel something that wasn’t pain. He’d been here to give it. She would have taken it from anyone.

“There’s no reason,” she whimpered the next minute, drawing him back to her with the smallest glance. “No reason for you to be here, Spike.”

He smiled gently. “I know these blokes, pet. Know ‘em well. The whole nasty lot. The thought of you up here…that was enough reason for me.”

Buffy shook her head, and the confusion on her face nearly tore him apart. As always, it was more than that. It had to be. And she knew it. Even without the luxury of viewing himself in a mirror, he knew damn well that his eyes gave him away a thousand times over. The years before his siring had taught him that much. Nights staggering home to Mother with the routine stop in front of the mirror to be sure he didn’t look too strained. Too disheveled. Too brokenhearted. He would look in the mirror and hate himself for what he saw staring back at him. A good man, but a weak one. A lovesick one. A foolish one.

A hundred years couldn’t change that, nor could the demon inhabiting his insides. Spike reckoned his monster and William had spent enough time together to get a fair measure of each other. The past few months had seen more William surfacing than he’d ever admit aloud.

“He said… Angel… He said…”

Oh, bugger Peaches. The old ponce _would_ have mentioned his love for the Slayer. He had been hoping she’d missed that. Of course not. Life, as it happened, was not kind to the undead. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Wanker says a lot of things,” he retorted with a shrug.

“Spike. No. He said—”

“Never mind what he says. Never mind anything he says.”

The Slayer opened her mouth to argue as she always would. As he would always have her do. However, by some small miracle, she held her tongue and kept her thoughts to herself. Then there was resignation. From the confusion on her face to steadfast defeat. He watched as she accepted that she would get nothing else from him.

In that moment, he was inspired once more to tell her. Tell her, get it on the table, sod all consequences. He loved her, and she deserved to know.

And if he kept his word, she would. Just not now. He didn’t need to burden her with that—didn’t need to feel the pain of her rejection, either, especially with what they’d shared here. Even if she would have taken comfort from anyone, he held onto the knowledge that she had let him—Spike—touch her like a lover. That meant the world to him and he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

And there was more than that. The fear that this experience would change her as Dru’s torture had changed her forever. If Buffy ever did want him, truly want him, he wanted it to be for real.

Funny. Not too long ago, he would’ve settled for anything. Bloody told her wanker of an ex as much on that, too. The part of him that was demon still felt that way—grateful for whatever she gave him, real or not. But the other part—the part that had evolved since falling in love with her, since coming to Los Angeles to get her back—understood something deeper. That letting her give him her body out of gratitude would be exchanging one prison for another. He’d be using Buffy as surely as Angelus was, and he wouldn’t do that.

Because if he did, that look in her eyes would eventually fade. She’d stop seeing him the way she did now. Like a person rather than a thing. He didn’t want to go back to being a thing with her. Not now. Not ever.

“Dru.”

Spike blinked, startled and jolting back to the present. “What?”

“Dru. Have you…have you seen Dru?”

He stared at her as though she had broken into a show tune. Drusilla? She wanted to know about Drusilla? The look in her eyes was serious enough, but he couldn’t believe it.

Where on earth had that come from?

“Well, yeah, I’ve seen her,” he replied awkwardly, still unsure of what she was looking for. “She went hunting with them…with us. I didn’t bite anyone, Buffy, I swear. I—”

“Have you…been with Dru?”

Spike simply stared, searching her eyes for whatever she was not telling him. Then her gaze dropped to the ground like she wanted to hide. The move was so random, so blessedly unexpected that he didn’t know whether to ask her what it was important or bark a laugh in turn.

“Dawn,” she said just as suddenly. “Glory. Does…where’s Dawn? How—”

“The Bit’s in England with Rupert,” Spike retorted easily. “He took the lot of them to get away from that crazed bitch.”

“And Mom?”

“With ‘em, I think. He’s havin’ the Council of Wankers help her with her condition. At least, that’s what he suggested.” That had been days ago, he realized. Days, and yet what all had happened. What all had changed.

There was a widening in Buffy’s eyes that he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. That innate slayerness that overpowered any need for herself in order to think of the welfare of others. He had no idea how she did it. How she could even form rational thought with all she had been through. “Spike,” she whispered urgently. “If something happens…if I—”

“You won’t.”

“But—”

“No bloody buts, Buffy. I’m getting you outta here.”

“You have to watch her. Okay? Just…just please…promise me that. Promise—”

He cut her off with a kiss to distract her—make her mad enough to get her screaming at him and her mind far from Dawn. From things she couldn’t say while on the premises of an evil law firm. If it had to do with her family and she hadn’t shared, then this was not the place to start.

What he didn’t expect was for her to kiss him back. For her to whimper into his mouth, lean into him. For her to want…

_Pull away, Spike. Pull away now._

So he did, panting. “Tell you what, sweetheart. We’ll watch her together, all right?”

“She’s…she’s the—”

“Don’t say anything,” he warned. “Okay?”

Buffy paused to look at him inquisitively and nodded when she understood.

“Just protect her,” she told him instead. “Please.”

“Like I said, love, we’ll protect her together.”

“If I don’t—”

“I’ll watch the Bit till the world ends,” he promised. “But not before I get you outta here safe and sound. All right? She’s fine. Anything had happened, I’d’ve heard from Rupert by now. The lover Wiccans are with the lot, too. Don’t think any of the Scoobies stayed in SunnyD after you…” What could he say? Left? As though she decided to take a holiday? “After you were gone.”

That didn’t seem to calm her as he had hoped. Instead, Buffy’s eyes went wide, and she surged against her restraints. The whimper that tore through her throat caused his cold blood to boil.

As delicately as he could, Spike placed his hands on her shoulders to calm her. “You’re gonna hurt yourself—”

“The Hellmouth,” she gasped. “The Hellmouth is…no one’s there to…”

“Buffy—”

“They’ll think…” She rested against his offered shoulder, panting with exertion. It killed him that it took so little to wind her. “Spike…they’ll think that…the demons…they’ll think I’m…that I’m dead. That the Hellmouth is free…free range. They’ll—”

“Don’t worry about the Hellmouth.”

“Spike! I—”

Since it had proven so bloody effective a moment ago, he decided to shut her up with another kiss. Again, he expected her to recoil, and again, she did not. Instead, after a few seconds, she relaxed and answered his fervor with a touch of her own, making him burn all over. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, the man in him being shoved aside.

There was a contented murmur when they parted. Though he could not have been prepared for what she said next.

“How can you touch me?”

Spike blinked and jumped back as though scathed. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “God, I’m so sorry. I thought you…” So close and yet so bloody far. If he had pushed her, hurt her—if she was responding to him because she thought he’d… Fuck, he wanted to stake himself. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“It’s nice.” She smiled. “It’s nice…to feel. That.”

Oh. Right.

“But I… I thought about after. You were here before. You left. But…” She looked to the ground as though shy. “You…did things. To me.”

Spike’s throat tightened.

“I never thought you’d touch me like that.”

“Neither did I,” he replied. He never thought she would let him.

“You…” Then Buffy was looking at him again, no longer shy. “I think… I think I’ve been stupid.”

“What?”

“Angelus…he…he’s hurt me.” Though he knew that, it pained him still with a flush of unbridled anger to hear the words on her lips. “He’s soulless. He’s a monster. You’re the same.” Her eyes locked with his. “You’re supposed to be the same.”

“I’d never hurt you.” He paused. That wasn’t quite true. He _had_ hurt her. “Not like that. Not… I don’t want you to hurt, Buffy. Not anymore.”

“I know.” And she did. Amazing. Looking at her, he saw that she did. “And that’s what…like I said, I’ve been stupid. I never…I never saw it. Never. You’re…” A sigh. She shook her head. “I don’t know why…you won’t tell me. Tell me how you can touch…me. When I’m…”

“Do you want me to?”

Buffy studied him a moment, and he saw the answer in her eyes. That much was enough to send him to his knees.

“Do you…” She licked her chapped lips. “Do you…want to?”

Was this taking advantage? Was it gratitude? Obligation? Was he supposed to walk away now or give her what she said she wanted? Fuck, he didn’t have the wiring to make these kinds of decisions—all he knew for certain was what she told him. What he saw. And in her eyes, he saw what she wanted. It burned him alive.

“Slayer,” he heard himself say as though from a distance, “short of getting you outta here, that’s all I want.”

There. He’d said it. Not a declaration of love, but as close as he reckoned he’d ever get. At least he had it out there now. She could do with it what she pleased.

Buffy nodded but didn’t say anything.

“That mean you want it, too?”

She nodded again.

If she wanted it now…would he be a wanker if he didn’t give it to her? It had seemed so easy the last time. Instinct. Buffy needed comfort and comfort he could provide.

But it seemed different now. Realer. And that terrified him.

Not so much, though, that he had to mull over what to do.

“Like this?” he asked, then bent his head and licked a wet path around an erect nipple.

She crooned and moaned against him. “Yes.”

“Then that’s what you’ll get.” He nuzzled his face between her breasts, lapping up whatever he could. Dried blood. Sweat. Even the dirt and grime that had collected there. He didn’t care. It was all her. “’Cause you don’t need to feel pain anymore, sweetheart. After we get you outta here, I’m gonna see you rightly cared for and pampered till the end of time.”

“But I…” Buffy paused, drew in a breath. “You can’t…it can’t be something you enjoy. I’m…look at me…I—”

Spike smiled against her. “Since when do you care about what I want?”

“Since you were good to me.” She moaned when his tongue came back into play. “Since I realized how…how…”

“Don’t say it,” he cautioned, and lifted his head to kiss her again.

She snorted. “You should know by now…that if you don’t want me to do something, then the last thing to do is to tell me not to do it.”

“Touché.” Spike pulled back slightly. “You’re gorgeous, Summers. Doesn’t matter what he does to you. Doesn’t matter a damn.”

She rolled her eyes.

He quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”

“In a word, no.”

“Sassy. You must be feeling better.” He pressed a finger to her lips and shook his head. “Trust me, baby,” he murmured. “Walking through that door and seeing you…after everything I’ve gone through to get here…nothing more beautiful than that. You’re so strong.”

The twinkle behind her eyes fell without prompt. “I don’t feel very strong,” she whimpered. “If I…I would’ve been able to…I could’ve…”

He kissed the hollow of her throat in reassurance. “There’s nothing you coulda done.”

“I’m not used to being helpless, Spike. I can’t stand it.”

“I know.”

“I’m the Slayer.”

“And here before long, you’ll be back to kickin' my ass like old times..” Spike sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “To make it easier for you, I’ll even pretend like it hurts. How ‘bout it?”

“I couldn’t go back to hurting you. Not after this.”

“Oi. Don’t make promises you can’t—”

“I can’t.” She leaned forward and kissed him gently, and his entire body froze in turn. It was wonderful, the liberated feel of her lips on his. Of her doing. Of her initiation. Forming that connection because she wanted it formed. “You’re really here,” she said when she pulled back.

“If you don’t know that by now—”

“I know it. I just can’t believe it. I’ve never treated you…” Buffy’s eyes fell shut once more. “I just don’t understand why.”

She was getting close to asking the same question he refused to answer, and Spike wasn’t sure that his will was strong enough this time around to refuse again. Thus he retreated within himself once more. Seeking, hunting, needing something desperately to distance her from these questions. She knew he felt something—that much was obvious. She knew it and she didn’t want to believe it, but she knew it all the same.

If the word _love_ were to surface, it might be the undoing for all of them. He had to distract her.

Her and himself.

“Why’d you ask about Dru?”

A brief pause. “What?”

“Dru. You asked me about Dru.”

“Don’t try to change the subject.”

“No. You asked me. I wanna know.” Spike cocked his head. “You asked if I’d been with her since I got back. Why?”

Buffy looked down at that, then snuck a peek at him. “Well…have you?”

God, he’d had it right the first time.

_Fuck me._

She was jealous.

The Slayer—Buffy—was jealous. And she hadn’t wanted him to know.

“No, love,” he answered softly. “She’s tried, though. Making with the come hither eyes and what all. It’s probably another reason Angelus wasn’t too keen on believing I was just happening by. No doubt she’s been wailing and giving dear ole grandmum and your precious ex a fair share of grief since I won’t entertain her.”

Buffy nodded, frowning. “Why?” she asked a few seconds later. “Why haven’t… You’ve wanted Dru back for forever. Why are you doing… Why any of this? Why not just…be one of them?”

“You’re a piece of work, Summers. Honestly, if you don’t know by now…”

“How can I, when you won’t tell me?”

Touché. But every turn deserved another.

“Why does me being with Dru matter at all?” Spike reached to tuck loose locks of disobedient hair behind her ear, his thumb unable to help from caressing her cheek.

More uncomfortable fidgeting.

“When you were here…” Buffy said softly. “When you were with me before, you…you made me feel…better.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Better?”

“You…touched…” The hint of rouge tinted her cheeks. “You touched me…and it felt…”

He tugged his mouth into a grin, but he didn’t want to embarrass her. “Good?” he suggested softly.

The embarrassment was still there, she looked like she was more afraid of rejection, or being mocked, than she was of admitting she’d enjoyed what he’d done to her. “Yes.”

Spike flashed a dimpled smile. “Good. It’s supposed to work like that.”

“I know. But you…you haven’t…”

There was little mistaking in that. His fingers danced over the tender skin at her thigh, not presuming anything more for the moment. Though he doubted he was wrong, he wouldn’t do anything without permission.

But he saw it. She wanted him. Good god, Buffy Summers wanted him. His touch. His comfort. His caress. Him.

“I wasn’t gonna,” he replied softly. “Not unless you asked me. Didn’t know if I was…if you wanted me to…”

The blush in her cheeks was growing deeper. Bloody mesmerizing.

“Not because of Dru,” he reassured her. “She’d never stop me from touching you, pet. Only you have that kinda power.” Spike leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead, eyes falling shut. “I never thought you’d let me this close.”

“I wouldn’t have,” she agreed, moaning when his lips found her throat again. “Never. Oh…”

There was a sigh of concession. He forced his hands to fists and cursed inwardly. “We’re running low on time, darling,” he warned. “I better—”

“No. Don’t go.”

His chest twisted. “I have to.”

“Please. Please don’t leave me. Not again.” The light that had filled her eyes was fading again. “You make me forget. God, you make me forget. If you leave, it comes back. It’ll all come back.”

Spike swallowed hard. “I’ll be back, Buffy. You know I will.”

“I know. I know. I just…I…”

“It’s killing me too, pet. To be this bloody close.” He glanced down, his eyes soaking in the scars marring her skin. The ones her ex had put there. How Angelus had taken something strong and pure, how quickly he’d made a canvas of her creamy flesh. How many more cuts might be there before it was all over. 

And the demon in him roared to life.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Spike—”

“I mean it, Buffy. I don’t care that he’s not your bloody Angel. I don’t care that he has a pretty little clause that’ll make all this forgivable. I don’t—”

“It’s not his fault.”

The words made him burn. “Bugger. That. I’m gonna kill him. Make no mistake of that.”

There was nothing but silence for a long minute, her eyes searching his all the same. Reading him. Looking into him. Her gaze was razor sharp and uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell if he’d pissed her off, if she was trying to figure a way to argue her honey’s innocence, or something else. Just that Buffy had never looked at him like that.

Like she was…

He paused.

Like she was trying to…understand.

Fuck, could that be it?

“All right,” she whispered.

Spike stared at her as though attempting to decipher whether she meant it. Her eyes could not lie to him.

Thus he smiled. “Thank you.”

A moment of complacent stillness. For perhaps the first time, they truly knew each other.

It couldn’t last long. Soon, Spike was pulling away, his heart lurching in protest. “I gotta go.”

“No.”

“I’ll be back for you.”

“When?”

“As soon as I bloody can.”

He might have just declared it years; her eyes flooded with tears once more. How he hated that look on her, knowing that he caused it. And yet, there was resignation. “I know,” she whimpered. However, there was more. There was always something more. “But, please. Please. If you’re going to…”

In spite of himself, Spike edged closer. It was dangerous but he couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to. Not when she looked at him like that. “What do you need, baby? What can I do?”

“Just make it go away for a little while. Just…please…I need…”

There was nothing else to be said. He nodded his understanding. “Like before?”

“You can…” Despite the tears, the blush was back. “You can…”

It was possibly the only time that Spike felt safe enough to listen to her body for everything she couldn’t yet trust with words. He smothered the grin that fought to break across his face, afraid of how she might take it if she saw. The mere thought of caressing her intimately spoke for every privilege he thought himself unworthy.

“Okay,” he murmured before brushing a nearly chaste kiss across her forehead. Then slowly, thoughtfully, he began to descend down the taut length of her, nibbling and licking a wet path as he went. He took a detour at her breasts, treating her nipples to a few long licks that had her whimpering, had her flooding him with her sweet, hot scent that told him—for now and now alone—she could be his.

But he wanted more, and so did she. Spike abandoned her breasts and continued south. Then he was on his knees before her, staring for the first time at the mouth of her sex. Her skin there was bruised and swollen, and there was a cut along her inner thigh, but she was wet—wet for him. Slick and beautiful and he had to have her in his mouth.

Spike rubbed circles into her hips, hoping to relax her. “Just say the word and I’ll stop.”

“No word. Bad word.” She paused. “Unless…I’m too gross—”

He pressed a kiss to her clit and her voice faded on a long moan, which made his own blood sing. Never in his unlife would he have imagined he’d have to convince her…

But then, look at what she’d been through. Thanks to his kind. His sodding _family_. They had shattered a pure beacon of light. Buffy might never again think of herself as desirable because of what had happened here, and if that was the case, he would make it his mission to prove her wrong.

“Only thing I’d change is the setting, love,” he murmured. “First time I tasted you, I fancied it being somewhere else.”

She was trembling hard. “First time? You…you’ve thought of this?”

“Many, many times.” He breathed into her warmth, nuzzling her nest of curls, and god,  her scent drove him wild. “Relax, sweetheart.”

“I am.”

The Slayer was not the most gifted of liars. Not when it came to such things.

“Buffy, I don’t have to—”

“No.” She strained as far forward as she could. “Please…oh god, please. Please.”

Spike’s gaze traveled heatedly up the length of her. She was breathing heavily, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, a look of concentration mapping her face. It amazed him that she could ever doubt her beauty. That she could doubt that he wanted her, regardless of what had become of her body. True, every inch of flesh was caked with dirt, blood, and mapped with scars, but this only emphasized her strength. Her stamina. Her everything.

She was moaning at his fingertips. Panting, pleading, begging him to touch her. The doubt that had harbored his stomach roused once more with caution, but he would not listen to it. Buffy knew who he was, what he was, and had asked him for this. Asked him to relieve her pain, if only for a minute. And he would never refuse her.

Slowly, intently, he lowered his mouth to her pussy and began to lick. She whimpered and rolled her hips, and he drew back, turning his attention to her inner thigh. To her warm skin, the hum of her blood teasing his fangs. Reminding him of how very alive she was.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Baby want somethin’?”

Her face fell into a scowl, but like this,  she couldn’t look menacing if she tried. “Evil.”

He chuckled. “Always.”

Then he licked a wet trail up her slit, and his eyes nearly rolled back. “So sweet,” he murmured, fingers skimming up her leg to play, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake.

“Ohhhh…”

His mouth returned to her, nibbling softly at her wet labia. He smiled inwardly when she strained against him. It was too little to be so much. Spike had long prided himself in being a purely sexual being, but for all his experience and usual control, nothing could have prepared him for this. For touching her so lightly and relishing the reaction received—his just as, if not more powerful than her own. He lapped at her, bathing his tongue in her taste, and did what he could to keep himself from falling apart. She tasted so good. So perfect. So fucking _Buffy_ , and it drove him wild.

Spike forced his way through the fog that creeping in the corners of his mind. He wanted to draw this out as long as possible. For him, yes, but what mattered was her. This was all about her. About making her feel as much nonpain as possible before he left. Before he crawled away to the real world and abandoned her for the likes of Angelus.

But damn, he didn’t want to think about that. Not when his tongue drawing laps up and down her slit, her skin trembling beneath his fingers. He only wanted this.

“Oh god,” she gasped. “Spike. Oh god.”

Of course, if she kept on like that, he wasn’t sure he could maintain command of himself.

“Please,” Buffy whimpered. “More. Please. I need…oh god—” She buckled against her bindings when his tongue came closer to the mouth of her pussy, and he immediately pulled back, not wanting to cause her more pain. “No! Please more. Please. God, I need you.”

Spike froze. His eyes met the desperation in hers. “What did you say?” he asked, voice barely audible even to his ears.

“I need you,” she repeated, evidently missing the confession’s significance. With so little having been said, he found it amazing, even in this situation, that she would give him that much. That she _could_ give him that much. And that she didn’t even realize what it was. What it meant for her. For him. For both of them. “God, Spike…I need you so much.”

A moan of concession tore through his throat. He caught her swollen clit between his lips and sucked, his fingers edging toward her opening. Then he had to taste her all over. Needed to feel her riding his mouth. He wet his fingers before turning them to her clit, then nibbled his way to where his cock desperately wanted to be, and thrust his tongue inside. He tasted every inch of her, claiming her all over. When he tasted the blood that had driven him off just two days before, he sucked at it. Greedy. Desperate. Not hurting her. He would never. But at some point, will and rationality had abandoned him. He was inebriated with her taste, and her words were the driving force that saw him home.

She mewled his name again, her heated cries becoming frenzied. When his attention returned to her clit, she sputtered a slew of words that made no sense, but ones he understood all the same. He drew his tongue around her clit once, twice, then sucked her into his mouth once more.  The whimpers rumbling from her throat shot straight to his dick; he was so hard that he couldn’t believe the flimsy zipper had held up.

“God,” he gasped into her skin. “You taste so good.”

“Guh…”

He wasn’t sure if she had heard him or not, but her hips thrust forward in a sharpened frenzy. That was it. All it took. He dipped his tongue back inside her pussy, searching and finding, seeking and needing. He stroked and lapped and took up all he could. He was a selfish bastard; there wasn’t a sip that would go to waste. The tips of his fingers found her clit again and caressed her there softly, coaxingly, wanting to give it to her but not wanting to overwhelm her all the same.

“I need your mouth,” she told him, surprising him. “On my…on…”

He understood and withdrew his tongue from her pussy before sliding his fingers into her. She pulsed and squeezed around him, and it was easy—so easy—for him to imagine she was squeezing something else. Spike shook his head and returned his mouth where she needed him. The second he had her clit between his lips, he felt her tense, tremble, and then she was coming. Fuck _him_ , she was coming all over his mouth.

Spike clutched her hips in desperation as the echo of her euphoria died around them. He held her so tight he began to fear hurting her further, rationality pouring back into him as his arms loosened and drew her near. A soft whimper pushed through his lips and his head found solace against the flat of her stomach. It took a few seconds to realize that when his vision blurred, it wasn’t because she’d drenched him. It was because she’d touched him—a part of him even he had thought long dead. The love that burned him. That had changed him. That made him want to be more than the thing he was so he could be the man she needed.

While he’d known for months now that he loved her, he now rang with a deeper truth. What he felt was beyond anything he’d ever felt, and that terrified him. Because he was a man who loved hard and loved well, and he’d thought he’d been close to perfection before.

And if Buffy never gave him anything else, at least she’d given him this.


	30. Bottle of Red Wine

Spike slumped against the elevator, panting, exhausted, and desperate for rest. He felt as though he had just completed a marathon. Or, rather, how he wagered those pulsers who competed felt at the end of a race.

It was too much, he decided. Barely ten minutes had passed since he left Buffy’s side, but his skin still tingled. She was an itch just beneath the surface of his skin. With him yet out of reach.

The past hour had changed his bloody life. He now looked through eyes that knew there was something out there deeper than love. The bond forged between them had grown to near painful proportions in the matter of an hour. Fuck, he felt as though she was in him.

The part of him that had been largely responsible for letting his heart overpower his head for the past century wanted to believe it meant all that and more to her, too. A few weeks ago he might have been able to convince himself of anything.

But even though he hadn’t been there, Spike knew damn well how Dru had been shaped by what she’d experienced at Angelus’s hands. The girl she’d been before was nothing on the vampire she’d become, and while the demon had done its share to warp her, the bulk of the damage had been done.

Buffy was a damn sight stronger than Dru, but she was still human. Parts of her were still fragile, and Angelus knew it. Those were the parts he wanted to break.

And maybe he had. Maybe that was all Buffy had left—a girl who wouldn’t look at him twice otherwise had all but begged him to fuck her with his mouth.

If Angelus had broken the Slayer, really broken her, Spike wouldn’t stop at just dusting him. He’d follow the bastard to Hell and kill him again and again for all of sodding eternity.

_He inhaled her. Warm. Complete. Wholly female. And human. Always human. He felt his tears collide with her abused skin. He didn’t know how long he’d been on his knees before her, though it could not have been long. His arms were tight around her as though she would disappear on command._

_There was nothing for long minutes. Nothing but her hard gasps as she came down. And he felt it when she did—when the world she had begged him to erase came soaring back._

_“Spike?”_

_He’d stirred at that, blinked up the length of her beautiful body to meet her eyes. “Sweetheart?”_

_“Why are you crying?”_

The elevator soared higher still. Figured the wanker would have an office located near the top. He recalled thinking this the last time he’d come to see Lindsey McDonald, but for whatever reason, it bothered him now.

But he knew the reason. Of course he did. It bothered him because every inch he moved skyward was one more away from her.

_He was at his feet in seconds, making no effort to hide his tears. “I don’t wanna leave you.”_

_“So don’t.”_

_“Have to.”_

_She mewled in protest. “I’m strong with you here,” she whimpered. “Don’t go. Please.”_

The bloody elevator finally stopped and the doors slid open. Spike drew a deep breath and willed himself not to jog to McDonald’s office. He passed a few red-shirts, one or two who did a double take at the sight of him, but most who didn’t give a damn. From what Spike had gathered, Angelus was the only one in the fam who made regular trips to the higher-ups. Ever since they’d ripped that pesky soul away, it seemed Darla had reverted to form. All she wanted to do was eat and kill and fuck, and not always in that order. She didn’t have the time or interest to deal with Wolfram and Hart. Why should she, when she had the grand-daddy prize she’d wanted so bloody much?

Unless she got tired of Angelus playing with the Slayer, which was all too possible.

_“I’m not gonna let you die ’cause I don’t know when to stop.” Spike brushed a kiss across her temple. He had hesitated then, a dark thought entering his mind. It was stupid and dangerous but filled him with a spark of hope. If he couldn’t stay with her, perhaps he could make her stronger._

_But not without permission._

_“Buffy,” he said, very slowly. “Listen to me. This is serious, and we don’t have a lot of time. He’ll be back soon enough. Hour’s nearly up.”_

_She blinked. “What is it?”_

_“What would you say if I told you that there’s a way to make you stronger? To make it…easier…to—”_

_“Yes.”_

_“You haven’t even heard me out.”_

_“No. But I trust you.”_

_That confession alone was enough to floor him. “You’re not gonna like it, sweetheart.”_

_There was a dry snicker at that. “I don’t think that matters anymore. Do you?”_

_True enough. Spike exhaled deeply. She had agreed, of course, but he wanted to make sure that she knew what she was getting herself into. “Listen. I’ll explain.”_

_“No explain. Just do it.”_

_“No. I wanna make sure you know what you’re asking for.” A sigh rippled through him. “Back in the fifteenth century, a craze broke out across Europe for—”_

_“Fifteenth century? Why the history lesson?”_

_“Listen to me. It’s important.” He sighed. “There was a craze going through Europe. Wasn’t exactly highly regarded by the hierarchy, though rumor has it, they were bloody addicted, too. Mortals who drank vampire blood, thinking it’d make ’em live forever or what all. It didn’t turn them or anything…but it did juice ’em up with power. Some got addicted. A few clans started to hunting down vamps and bleeding them to maintain the high. It’s potent stuff, Buffy. Dangerously potent.” He dropped his eyes to the ground. “It didn’t last long for the obvious reasons. More powerful vamps got wind of it and took out the bigger threats. The craze ended and vamps were given an even uglier name than before. I only mention it ’cause it works. I know it does.”_

Lindsey’s office was vacant. Spike paused inside and scowled. Well, that was just rude. He had an appointment, after all.

Blowing out a deep breath, he turned his attention to the books that lined McDonald’s shelves. Law titles, mostly. A few ancient demon scrolls and a copy of the King James Bible. Eclectic mix.

_“You’re teasing me.”_

_He blinked. “Am not.”_

_“Are so.”_

_“Why do you think so?”_

_“I didn’t become addicted-girl after Dracula made me drink from him.”_

_Ah. That explained it. “Love, how much did you drink?”_

_“Well…not much. A sip, really. But it was gross.”_

_“Wasn’t enough. And yeah, gross as it might be you bloody pulsers, something tells me you might a bit more open to it now.”_

_“Don’t count on it.”_

_It was that—that note in her voice that made him hope she was still the same. Or enough the same that she knew what she was doing, because fuck, she sounded like Buffy._

_“I’d never even suggest it if I didn’t think it’d help. And I’ll be damned before I see you jonesin’ for it like they did in the old days. You’re a slayer. It’d work wonders on you.” He leaned inward impulsively to kiss her, and reveled in the moan she fed him when she tasted herself on his tongue. “I just wanna help. As much as bloody possible. And I don’t wanna leave here without knowing I did everything I could to make things better for you.”_

_Her cheeks tinted at that. “Have you…” she asked softly. “Did you ever…do this before? Make someone…?”_

_“No.”_

_“Then how do you know—”_

_“I watched Angelus and Darla do it once for kicks. Dragged some poor unsuspecting bird into their clutches and got ‘em all doped up on vamp blood. Not a pretty sight, ’specially when the girl started goin’ through withdrawal.”_

_“I don’t like the sound of this…”_

_“I wouldn’t let you get like that.”_

_“You’d have a say?”_

_“I know how much is too much. Doesn’t take an experienced donor to tell you that.” Spike shook his face, his fangs descending. He raised his wrist to his mouth and bit. Then he watched as she studied the blood that bloomed under the wound with wide, curious eyes._

_He hesitated a moment, then raised his wrist to her mouth._

_Her face was a map of uncertainty—which he’d expected, but not as much as he’d have thought, and he didn’t know whether or not to be relieved. The Buffy Summers of before would never have even considered. She might have taken the offering from Angel—hell, he knew she would have taken the offering from Angel. But he was not Angel. He was Spike, and up until all too recently, she had hated him._

_But she did not hate him now._

His irritation at the lawyer’s absence from his office was on the verge of graduating to anger. With things as they were, the Spike hardly felt comfortable entrusting everything he had to lose in the hands of a man he had only recently decided not to kill. Another few minutes and he might start prowling the halls and screaming the git’s name.

Every second counted.

_He pulled away when he felt her disgust turn to desperation. Any more could prove fatal for both of them, and she was not completely beyond her fear of addiction, or worse, transformation. She had not taken enough to give herself more than a twenty-four-hour boost, but he was content, if not terrified._

_Buffy seemed to sense this. Her eyes became large and inquisitive, and she gave a small shudder when he leaned inward and licked his own blood from the corner of her perfect mouth._

_“Please don’t hate me for this,” he whispered._

_“My choice. I trust you.”_

_Her words soothed, but he did not wholly believe them._

_“Hey. Look at me.”_

_The command in her voice made him smile. The blood was working wonders already. And Spike complied. He was helpless to do anything but._

_“You’ve done more for me than anyone,” she said seriously, and he saw that she meant it. “I can’t…I can’t begin to—”_

_“Then don’t,” he whispered. “But there is something I need you to do for me.”_

_She nodded. Amazing. Unquestionable faith. There was no hesitation in her eyes. Whatever it was, she would comply. And that was all there was to it._

_Spike inhaled deeply and raised his wrist to her lips, flinching when she instinctively neared. That wasn’t what he wanted, and he knew damn well that Buffy loathed the idea of being dependent on blood. She hated blood, and while he would never understand why she had chosen to believe him in now, he was just grateful that she had. “You have to make it look like a bite,” he said. “Your bite. Like you were tryin’ to…I need you to make it look like you hurt me.”_

Spike knew the instant that he was no longer alone—knew well before the office doors swung open. Lindsey’s scent was ingrained.

McDonald was on his cell phone and, from the look of things, not surprised to see him. For a moment, they stared at each other, then Lindsey held up a hand to signify his need to end the call. Spike’s jaw tightened but he nodded and returned his attention to the bookshelf.

_“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”_

_He grinned at her concern but shook his head. To be honest, he was surprised. Though he knew she was fueled with more than enough to get her through the next few hours—hopefully longer, to tide her until he and his friends from Angel Investigations made their move—he had not expected her to react so enthusiastically. She hadn’t liked the idea of biting him, but she’d understood the why. The air was still thick with the scent of her climax, but if all went well, the whiff of Spike’s blood would throw Angelus off. Spike already had a story in mind to go with it, though he knew making it believable was a different matter._

_He could only try. And hope that his elder didn’t decide to do them both in._

_“I’ll be back,” he promised her. “Before you bloody know it.”_

_Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he claimed her lips._

_Buffy threw herself into the kiss. The taste of his blood on her tongue nearly caused him to double over in pleasure. “I know you will,” she answered when they pulled apart. “Because you love me.”_

_And the simplicity—the understanding—in that statement had left him thoroughly defeated. If there was ever a time that he could hide himself from her, he did not recognize it. She saw him and knew. She knew. Buffy knew that he loved her, and she accepted him. Trusted him._

_And he had left her._

“I hope you have not been waiting long.”

Spike snickered. “Long according to whose clock? I got time. She doesn’t.”

Lindsey snapped his cell phone shut and tossed it onto the desk. “Touché.” A beat later, and he broke across the floor for the minibar that sat parallel the bookshelves. “Would you like something to drink?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed and what remained of his patience evaporated. “Bugger the pleasantries. Whaddya got for me?”

Lindsey nodded and paused by the minibar. “I believe that I have found a loophole in the magic that protects Buffy’s chains from breaking. I just got off the phone with someone that can help us.”

A sigh rumbled through his throat. “We’re bringin’ in more independent wankers? No. I just now got Zangy to trust me. Listen, McDonald, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but we’re getting too close to worry with what may or may not work. Cordy’s got this plan… It’s not very good, but I already fancy it more than whatever you’ve got cooked up. Black magic can’t be fucked with. You oughta know that.”

“In any other circumstance, I’d agree with you,” Lindsey said, handing him a glass of Amarone without looking at it. The gesture threw Spike off for a minute, but he took the offering all the same. “You’re right,” Lindsey continued. “Absolutely. But in cases such as these, there is only one thing that can undo an enchanted shackle other than its key.”

“Oh?” He took a sip of his drink. “And what is that?”

“The warlock I just got off the phone with. Popular guy, but his rates are negotiable, and he owes us a few favors.”

That was it. His interest was piqued. “Who is this?”

“The same…well, not a man, but client that made Buffy’s bindings. He’s the only one who can undo them, aside from the key bearer.”

Relief was a funny thing. It didn’t take much to alter Spike’s mood. A magic-prone locksmith sounded oodles better than the lame and voted-most-likely-to-fail plan that Cordelia had up her sleeve. This was it. It could work. It bloody well had to. “Bloke got a name?”

“Gregori.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Well, that’s what he’s calling himself in Los Angeles. He might go by other names elsewhere.”

Spike nodded, tossed back another drink and let himself sink into one of the chairs opposite the lawyer’s desk. “So, what’s all that, then? We wait around until this bloke agrees to get her out?”

“He’s agreed.”

“And this is the type of gent who respects his verbal contracts?”

Lindsey nodded, claiming his seat behind the desk. “Absolutely.”

“You have no doubt?”

“Like I said, he owes us a favor.”

Spike’s eyebrows perked. “I see. Interesting. ‘Cause you see, you better be sure that he’s the type of guy who holds up to his bargains. Now I got my heart set on this, if it goes belly-up, you’re gonna find out just how much monster is still inside me.”

Lindsey rolled his eyes. “Look, Spike, don’t try to threaten me. I’m your best connection and I know you’re not going to do anything to mess with that. Despite what your associates might think, you are an intelligent man, and I think you see that if I’m gone, your chances of getting Buffy out are as well. We’re all sharing our part of the blame here.”

“Some more than others.”

Lindsey looked down. “Yes,” he agreed. “I won’t deny it. Had I known what she was going to be put through, I would’ve done everything in my power to get her out of here when it was under my control. That’s my fault and I assume all responsibility.” He glanced up once more, gaze serious. “I thought I was in love and that bringing her in would… I don’t know what I thought. Whatever it is, you can’t imagine how…”

“Funny thing. My imagination’s stronger than you think.” He paused. “I promised her that the next time I came to her, it’d be to get her out. And it will be. You hear me?”

“Yes.”

Well, that was easy.

“And if your bloke doesn’t come through?”

“He will. I know he will.” A pause. “But if something happens…if he doesn’t…I’ll do what I have to. Whatever I have to.”

“Even if—”

Lindsey glanced up, eyes stilling him. “Whatever I have to,” he said softly.

A sigh then. Spike considered him a long beat, nodding when he saw it was true. And there was nothing else to say. Nothing else to verify. He could not ask for more than that. They were covered from all corners. It was only a matter of hours now.

Hours.

“There is something, though,” Lindsey continued, “that I want you to do for me.”

_Ah, here it comes._

“I see,” Spike drawled, leaning back. “And what might that be?”

“Regardless of what happens to me, or to her, I want you to kill Angelus.”

Spike blinked.

Lindsey ignored him and continued. “And at this point, I don’t care if the Senior Partners get pissed off or not. Wolfram and Hart is not in a place to remove him, even though he has not served up his part of the bargain that he and—”

“Hold up, mate. Lemme get this straight. All I gotta do—”

“Is kill Angelus. That’s it. No strings.”

He snickered. “No strings? Rot. I’ve eaten my fair share of lawyers, so I know what they hunger for. There are always strings.”

“Not in this. I just want him dead.”

Spike stared at him. That was it? The end? It couldn’t be, but Lindsey looked as serious as a man could.

 _Doesn’t that beat all?_ The bill was a dead Angelus, something he had banked on from the beginning? Well, that was too perfect. Perfect.

“I tell you what,” Spike said, kicking his feet onto the desk and raising his glass. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I’m sure.” The cynicism in Lindsey’s voice did not reach his eyes, and for whatever reason, Spike found that even more reassuring. Eyes were far more telling than tones. “Do we have an understanding?”

“And more so.” Spike raised his glass. “I’ll even drink to it.”


	31. Fallen

Though she had seen the sun rise many times before, it had never been like this. And Dawn doubted very much that she would ever tire of the sight. The first peek of light over the still English horizon, pouring golden drops of lemonade across the plains that she was forced to think of as home.

In truth, they hadn’t been in England all that long. A few days, maybe, but it felt like much longer. Maybe because Dawn was still on California time—she felt she had to be. That was where Buffy was.

Sleep was nearly impossible, though Giles implored her to make more of an effort. Whatever rest she got came in short spurts. The past few nights, Dawn had passed out on the couch or propped against a table. She didn’t stay there, though, as Giles thought it best that Joyce not find her youngest having exhausted herself with worry. With Buffy gone, their mom had enough to worry about.

Dawn did enjoy English mornings, though. Almost the exact opposite of Los Angeles, or what her false memories recalled of Los Angeles. The hurry. The noise. The urgency. That had been home. The first home she remembered.

For a long time, Dawn had resented her sister for getting kicked out of Hemery. For causing, as she’d seen it then, their parents’ split. For forcing Dawn to part ways with her friends and the only home she’d ever known.

Yet though she hadn’t admitted it for years, the sky in Sunnydale had won her over almost immediately. The sky without smog. And her classmates had been a little nicer.

Or so the monks had made them because she’d never existed. She’d never gone to school. Never had sleepovers. Never attended birthday parties. Never done anything at all, save pop into Buffy’s life a handful of months earlier.

Now she was in England, and this was not a false memory. In an English cottage tucked into remote countryside. How Giles had found this place, she did not know. Perhaps it was a family estate. Perhaps it belonged to the Council. He had mentioned who owned it, she knew, but she hadn’t been listening at the time.

Her mother was sick. Her sister was gone.

And Spike was off to rescue her.

It wasn’t as though it was a surprise. The guy was totally in love with Buffy—obviously—and he was horrible at hiding it. Hell, he always had been. Dawn vividly remembered the night that he’d come home with Buffy for the first time, when her sister had finally dropped the Slayer bombshell. Not that Dawn had been in the room then—either in reality or in her false memories—but she had lurked on the staircase and listened to them as they plotted how to take Angelus out. Together. United in what turned out to be the first of many alliances. And true, while his heart had been pledged to Drusilla at the time, Dawn had seen how he’d looked at her sister. That sheath of hatred that only barely covered the mixed confusion and longing beneath. She had been too young to know what she was seeing, but the image had never left her.

The past few months had been a severe eye opener. Dawn was fourteen now. She was still young, of course, but she was becoming skilled at reading guys—at least, the guys in her life. She lacked her sister’s confidence in school, always felt more like the punch line than the comedian. But she was good at reading people. Very good. And prior to this unfortunate mess, Spike’s behavior had been even stranger than usual. It hadn’t taken long to piece together. Piecing together what she’d seen that first night to what she saw now, and Dawn was convinced that Spike loved her sister.

Good for him. True, that pretty much meant her crush on him was a big dead-end, but she’d figured that much from the start. Even if she lived to be the oldest woman in history, she would always be regarded as the baby.

So was the woe of being the youngest child.

And she was the youngest. The youngest fourteen-year-old in the world. She hadn’t even lived a full year. Not really. Memories were just, but they were nothing more than pictures. Images. Things some monks wanted her and her family to believe in order to keep a hellbitch from getting her hands drenched in Key-blood.

In need of a distraction, the Scoobies had filled the days since leaving Sunnydale with endless research. Willow and Tara spent hours perfecting their craft, enhancing the protective, however unseen barrier that kept them concealed from the outer world. It was not infallible, they had explained, but were Glory to show up, they would be well aware, if not prepared before she kicked the door down.

Buffy was not in their conversations. She did not make visits to the dinner table. She did not drift in and out of research sessions. She was, for all intents and purposes, gone. Dawn never doubted that she was in their thoughts. It was easy to see. There was constant worry on Giles’s face. Xander’s eyes were always empty and sad, even when he was laughing at something Anya said or playing a board game with the rest of the gang. Willow and Tara had all but mastered the art of nonverbal communication. Even Anya remained rather mute on the matter. There was an unspoken code. They couldn’t mention Buffy. Couldn’t. It was too easy to refer to her in the past tense, and that was something that no one was prepared for.

It had bothered Dawn at first. The thought that they were to pretend Buffy was all right—or worse—nonexistent. She wanted to talk about her sister. But that passed, as things often did, and she learned that silence was a virtue. As long as they did not mention her sister, she would always be alive.

God, how many days had gone by? The English countryside was lovely, but Dawn wanted to go home—her real home. Her home with Buffy.

The floorboard behind her creaked. “Hey Dawnster. You’re up early.”

She glanced over her shoulder, forcing a smile. “Morning, Willow.”

“You all right?”

“Peachy keen. Peachy keen is me.”

The redhead smiled back and nodded. “Good, good. I’m gonna try my hand at some breakfast. Wanna help?”

“I think I’m gonna stick to cereal this morning, but—sure—I can help.”

There was a curious pause. “You sure you’re all right?” Willow asked a minute later. “You seem to be Deep Thought gal this morning.”

“I’m fine,” Dawn reassured her, turning her eyes back to the horizon. The sun was rising higher. She wondered if that meant it was nighttime in California. Despite her body’s resistance to the time change, she had been at a loss at what the real time was since her watch had broken earlier last week. Time zones were not her specialty.

Dawn snorted. Broken watches. Her sister was being tortured or turned or worse and she was sitting across the globe in a perfect English cottage, watching the sunrise and worrying about broken watches.

That was all it took. In seconds, Willow had sealed the distance between them and taken her into her arms. Dawn didn’t even realize she’d started crying until the first awful pang for air stretched her lungs. She hadn’t cried over Buffy since they left California, but by god, she was crying now.

“Shhhh,” Willow murmured, stroking her hair softly. “It’s okay, Dawnie. It’s okay.”

“No,” Dawn protested, shaking her head. “It’s really, really not. I’m so worried, Will. I’m so…it’s not fair. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t—”

“No goodbyes, sweetheart.”

Empty promise, that. If living in Sunnydale had taught her anything, it was that saying goodbye was the only certainty there was in life. But Buffy had always been invincible. She had always prevailed. Always survived. It had never occurred to Dawn to make sure she said goodbye to Buffy every time she headed out for patrol, because it might always be the last one. As sisters, they had always been on the outs. Always fought. Always bickered about this and that. She had always resented Buffy for her superiority, for being the one the others favored, for being the Slayer. But with that came boundless love and unfathomable respect. If she lost Buffy without letting her know that, she would never forgive herself.

“I miss her,” she sobbed into Willow’s sweater.

“I know, honey. We all do. But hey—no worries! We’ll—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” Dawn pulled away hastily, jabbing at her tears, angry that she had cried them to begin with. “Don’t pretend around me. Just be honest. I can’t stand this pretending. It’s…it’s not right. Buffy’s out there, and we’re…”

A sigh escaped Willow’s lips. “I know,” she agreed. “But Spike’s with her. He wouldn’t let her down.”

“Xander doesn’t seem to think so.”

“What?” Willow scowled. “What has he said to you? God, that little worm. I could wring his neck! Or better yet, turn him into a newt. Stupid guy never learns when to not talk. I—”

“Don’t turn Xander into anything. He’s told me nothing. It’s just obvious.” When she didn’t readily agree, Dawn rolled her eyes. “Come on, I don’t have to have magical powers to know that. Just looking at him’s enough. He doesn’t trust Spike any more than he would trust Anya with a Playgirl centerfold.”

That remark earned a wry grin. “I think he does,” she said softly. “I mean, sure, Spike’s done the entire ‘I hate you because I’m evil’ thing, but really, if Xander was paying any attention the night that he came by—”

“You told me that he accused Spike right off.”

At that, Willow fidgeted. “Well…he did…but…” That wasn’t helping. With a sigh, she shook her head and leaned against the wall. “Look, for what it’s worth, I think if Spike’s gotten this far…or as far as he was, last we heard from him, we don’t have much to worry about. No news is good news, right?” She paused to allow a response, but Dawn had none to offer. “If anything, Spike knows that he has to get her back. ‘Cause if he doesn’t, he’s gonna get his ass kicked by the Scooby Gang.”

Dawn grinned weakly. “You better believe it.”

Willow’s arm found its way around the Dawn’s shoulders again. “Come on, short stuff. Let’s get cookin’.”

“Short stuff? I’m taller than you.”

“I was referring to your aura, thank you very much.”

“I so do not have a short aura.”

Willow sighed dramatically. “Fine. Have it your way. Why don’t you go feed Miss Kitty Fantastico? I’ll start us up some pancakes. No more of this cereal nonsense. You’re too young to be eating healthy.”

Dawn smiled. “Fine. Twist my arm, why don’t you?”

“Got the wrench all ready.”

That was it, then. The morning would continue as normal. No more mention of her absentee sister or the vampire antihero that had insisted on saving her. Talking about her would not bring her back. No more salt. No more wounds. Just this. This enduring of whatever there was to endure.

Despite its beauty, Dawn did not think she would miss England when it was time to return to her real life.

Even if it was a fake one.

*~*~*

 

For the first time since arriving in Los Angeles, Spike had absolutely no idea where to go. The Hyperion was dangerous, despite its convenience, and he didn’t feel right being around the others. There was Caritas, but he didn’t want to sing. He was too afraid of what the Host might see in his future, good or bad.

He couldn’t turn a corner, mutter a word, have a thought without his mind dragging him back to her. How much had changed without having changed at all. The feel of her against his skin haunted him. His lips ached with the taste of her kisses. The experience was unlike anything he had thought to feel before.

Perhaps it was the blood. It seemed to connect them, though, on a level he was unprepared for. And what had come before—touching her. Tasting her. Hearing her say she needed him.

Fearing it wasn’t real. Fearing that it was.

It was too much to get through now, so he referred to what he knew. The basics. The fundamental thing that was the Slayer was being held by Angelus, and he had to get her out. Simple as that.

And thanks to Lindsey McDonald, they had a somewhat decent plan.

Okay, a very decent plan. It was merely a matter of timing.

Spike snickered. Funny. Wolfram and Hart—more particularly—Lindsey had him exactly where he was most vulnerable. He would do anything to get Buffy out. Anything. No task was too small, no challenge too great. And yet, the price he’d been quoted was the only thing in the world he would have done for free.

Killing Angelus wouldn’t make up for what Buffy had been through, but it sure would go a long way in making Spike feel better.

In the end, having nowhere to go, Spike decided that Wright’s pit of a motel room was as good a place as any. According to the hunter, the bill was paid throughout the rest of the month—unless Wright had come by to cancel that, but that didn’t seem likely. And even if he had, maybe Spike would just kick the door down and make himself at home. No one would think to look for him there. Angelus might follow, but he doubted it—and even so, Spike reckoned his scent was strewn across nearly half the town. Finding and keeping a lead wouldn’t be easy.

Judging by Lindsey’s ability to send mercenary vamps his way, Spike figured the lawyer could find him, and at the moment, that was all he cared about. So he would go to the motel tonight, and tomorrow—while the big git slept—he would share the change of plans with the rest of the waiting team at Angel Investigations.

Except when Spike arrived at the shithole masquerading as a motel room, he found it was in use.

Very much in use.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to do, so he just stood at the doorway, wide-eyed, watching Wright and Cordelia move together in a tangle of naked flesh before they realized that they had an audience.

It was only when Wright turned to look at him that Spike’s brain clued on and he realized exactly what he was seeing. And promptly threw an arm across his face in horror.

“Oh bloody hell!” he growled. “My virgin eyes!”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Wright demanded between hard breaths.

“Lookin’ for a place to stay,” Spike replied. “Well, bugger that idea. Glad to see you two made up.” That was it. He left without another word, slamming the door behind him.

Then he paused, considered, and kicked it back open. “I just wanted to say, good on you, mates. I knew you two’d pull it off if you were given a little nudge…” He trailed off, considering. “Well, more than a nudge, if you ended up—”

Cordelia slammed a hand on the mattress. “Spike!”

Wright looked down at her in horror. “Don’t yell his name while we’re…” He gestured inarticulately.

Another awkward beat passed. Then Spike cleared his throat and nodded. “Right. Just leaving. You two—erm—have fun.”

By now, Cordelia was breathless and nodding emphatically, waving at him to hurry. “Sure I’ll get right on that.”

“Or under it,” Wright replied.

“Okay. Officially scarred for my unlife. I’m gone before the damage is permanent.”

This time when he closed the door, it stayed closed.

*~*~*

 

“Now…” Zack said, panting a little. “Where were we?” He began moving with experimental thrusts that earned him a sharp gasp.

Cordelia seized his biceps for leverage. “I think there,” she replied, arching her hips.

“Ah…now I remember.”

*~*~*

It couldn’t last. Spike knew that the minute he left the motel, more disturbed than he wanted to admit. He wanted to give them their peace, but whatever newfound bliss they were experiencing had to be put on hold. The years had taught him many things, shown him more than he rightly reckoned he’d wanted to see, but watching two people have sex when actual feelings were involved was something he wasn’t accustomed to. Angelus had always made a spectacle of himself: fucking Darla or Dru or some victim or all of the above. That had never bothered him. Not really. But knowing what Wright and Cordelia were doing made him uncomfortable.

Because he didn’t think he’d ever had that. Not even with as much as he’d loved Dru.

Except maybe he had tasted it earlier today with Buffy. Maybe that was what this feeling was. Maybe that was why he felt off.

Spike waited, lounged against the exterior wall, smoking leisurely. He knew it was only a matter of time.

Within twenty minutes, the door to Wright’s motel room opened to reveal a disheveled Cordelia working on the buttons to her blouse. She looked at him directly, then turned to call over her shoulder. “Yeah, he’s still here.”

Spike smirked at her as Wright appeared behind her, looking about as relaxed as he figured the bloke had ever been in his life.

Spike cocked his head with an arched brow. “Top of the evenin’ to you,” he greeted.

Wright grinned. “Oh, you can say that again.”

Cordelia whacked his arm. He shrugged unapologetically, his eyes still dancing.

“God,” she snickered under her breath. “I sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Spike chuckled and puffed on his cigarette. “So,” he began, “when’d this happen?”

“We were going for weapons,” Cordelia said. “The stuff he didn’t bring with him when you two came here a few nights ago.”

Spike grinned like an idiot. “And you what?” he asked Wright. “Seduced her into your pit of filth an’—”

“Hey!”

“Call ‘em like I see ‘em, mate.”

“Yeah,” Cordelia agreed, nose wrinkling. “I forgot we were here. Sheesh, you make Doyle’s apartment look like a Marriott.”

Wright frowned. “Who’s Doyle?”

A poignant look overwhelmed her at that—brief but telling. “Old friend,” she said softly. “A good old friend. He’s the one that gave me the visions.”

“I’m not following…”

“He kissed me before he saved us…me and Angel. There was this glowy thing and it was gonna kill us and he…” She trailed off, then gave her head a shake. It didn’t take much to piece together what had happened there, any more than it did the fact that Cordelia wasn’t entirely over it. “Anyway, point being, his place was a dump…but not as bad as this.”

“I can’t believe you’re thinking of the décor after—”

Spike held up a hand. “So, what? Give you two an enclosed area and suddenly you’re shaggin’ like bunnies?”

There was an uncomfortable beat.

“It was because of the plan,” Cordelia said. “Well, sorta. We figured we were on the way there anyway… Well, at least I did. I was sorta…the jumper. You know, just in case it all goes to hell and you guys end up with one dead Seer on your hands.”

Wright grunted. “And she wonders why I want her to drop it altogether.”

“Hey,” she protested. “We don’t have anything better.”

“Actually, we do.” Spike smiled thinly when they looked to him. “Thanks to a lawyer we all know and resent, I got me a helluva Plan B.”

The relief rolling from Wright was blatant, and that alone made the announcement all the more worth it. “What?”

“Apparently, Lindsey has access to the bloke that made the bloody key in the first place. Says he’s agreed to come in and undo it.” Spike shrugged. “Given the lesser of two bad ideas, I’d say his wins the ‘let’s do it’ award, mainly ‘cause I think his stands a chance of being…oh, I dunno, effective.”

“His plan is to call a locksmith?” Wright asked with a grin.

“My plan was effective!” Cordelia growled.

“Yeah,” Wright agreed, rolling his eyes. “A real effective way of getting you killed.”

“Watch it.”

“Now, now, children.” Spike held up his hands. “Let’s not make a big thing outta it.”

There was a sigh of concession. “Fine,” Cordelia offered. “Fine. So Lindsey’s idea is better. It would bet—he’s a lawyer.”

“Right,” Wright deadpanned. “That’s the only reason.”

She ignored him. “When’s this going down? We gotta get everyone—”

“No,” Spike said. “Too dangerous with the lot of us goin’ in. Zangy and I’ll handle this alone.”

“But—”

“I gotta agree,” Wright replied. “Sounds far less risky with just us.”

“You’re just looking for an excuse to lay waste to the place.”

The two men exchanged a mischievous glance. “Yeah,” they said in unison.

“Fine,” Cordelia grumbled. “Fine. When do you go in?”

“If all goes according to Lindsey’s schedule,” Spike said slowly, “we’ll move in tomorrow while the wankers are sleeping the day away. In and out. No bloody hassle.”

“That’s it?” Wright arched a brow. “Sweep in, sweep out, presto Slayer? I don’t think so. Nothing is ever that easy, especially where these guys are concerned. Hell, Spike, if I know that, then—”

“Just for bloody once,” Spike snapped, “we can hope it otherwise. Either way, I’m gettin’ her outta there tomorrow, and god help the man who stands in my way.” A sigh rolled off his shoulders. “Gettin’ her out’s the priority. Let them kill me first. All right? Zangy, I know this is a bloody no-brainer, but I’m counting on you to get her out if I can’t. You understand?”

A thick silence stretched between them, a troubled look falling over Wright’s face. Not hesitant, per se, but unsettled.

“I mean it,” Spike repeated.

“I know. Getting Buffy out’s the priority. I know.”

Another pause. Spike shrugged a minute later to show his indifference. “It’s no big concern,” he said. “I plan to be there for the whole bloody ride. Just need a little insurance policy’s all.”

“I get that. And how.”

Cordelia pursed her lips pursed, then turned to Spike, eyes ablaze with understanding. “Right,” she said slowly. “What do you want us to do?”

“Stay at the hotel,” he replied. “Lindsey’ll call if there’s trouble.”

“You sure you won’t take Gunn or Wes with?”

“I’m sure. Zangy and I are all the muscle we need. Relax, pet, it’s a simple retrieval. Once the warlock bloke works his mojo, getting her to safety’s only a matter of minutes. ‘Sides,” he added with a somewhat impish grin. “Someone’s gotta stay behind and protect the womenfolk.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Zack smirked but turned to Spike all the same. “You’re staying here tonight?”

“Yeah. Gotta maintain a low profile. I’ll be by early in the morning.”

“How early’s early?”

Spike winced. “Too early for a vampire, let’s put it that way. You two better run on…get in a nice long shag before the sun comes up.”

“Hey!” Cordelia whacked him again, ignoring the mock-wounded look that slid over Wright’s face.

“‘Hey!’?” he repeated, only mildly serious. “Why ‘hey!’?”

“Didn’t mean to get you all skittish,” Spike said. “Just thought I’d offer some advice. Reckon the lot’ve us are gonna be tense and hankerin’ for relaxation tonight. Better take it where you can get it.”

At that, both parties glared at him. “Hey!”

He ignored them. “You two run off,” he said. “Do what you gotta.”

“What are you gonna do?” Cordelia asked.

A sigh. Spike glanced up, doing his best to keep the all-consuming worry that had dominated him since seeing her that afternoon at bay. “Try and get some sleep,” he answered. “Try and see past tomorrow.”

Something told him, as all things were, that the task would always be easier said than done. But he was a stubborn bloke. He always had to try.

The night was the last Buffy would spend in captivity. He knew that without knowing anything else. Except he worried—fuck how he worried—that it might be the last she saw at all. Hell, it might be the last for all of them. Buffy, himself, and Zack Wright. There were a thousand things that could go wrong between now and tomorrow.

But he couldn’t think of those things. Because he’d made a promise—a promise he’d die to keep.

Buffy _would_ get out, and she would get out alive.

Even if he did not.


	32. The Last Day

Drusilla was bellowing.

Well, nothing new there.

“Good god,” Darla drawled as she crossed the room to join Angelus on the settee, rolling her eyes. “I could’ve sworn we asked Lindsey to make a muzzle for her. Did we not, my dearest?”

There was a long, disinterested pause before he glanced up. “I can’t imagine why you’re surprised,” he retorted. “Lindsey’s pretty good at ignoring our requests. He slips up again, I guess we’re just gonna have to kill him.”

She snickered. “That’s your solution to everything.”

“Works, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, lighten up. You’re just pissy because Lindsey grew a pair.”

“No. That I’d respect.” Angelus bounded to his feet the next instant, eyes blazing. “What makes me pissy, sweetheart, is the fact that we’re sitting back and letting them call the shots. I can’t remember when being evil became so goddamn technical.”

“He threatened to call the Senior Partners, didn’t he?”

“Subhuman lawyers. Sounds a bit redundant to me.”

Darla grinned nastily. “No, lover. Just means that there’s something else out there that you’d fail to kill.”

He rolled his eyes. “And we’re on this again.”

“I don’t see why it’s necessary to keep her. I never have, but, what the hell? If this didn’t get her out of your system, nothing would. But god, Angelus, she’s boring, and she’s used up the last of her batteries.” She glowered at him. “Better to kill her and have it over with. You know I love it when you obsess, but this is…annoying.”

Angelus shook his head. “You don’t get it. You never get it. You think it was bad for you, having that squirming, nasty little what’s-her-name locked inside you. Keeping you from being who you really are? You don’t know the half of it, honey. You were never in love with one of them.”

Darla narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t see what this has to do with not killing her now.”

“I’m not finished with her yet.”

“Honey, you get any more finished, and there’s not gonna be anything left.”

There was a snicker. “Don’t tell me you feel sorry for her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Torture the bitch, see what I care. But she’s growing on my nerves.”

“By hanging there?”

“By distracting you.” Darla shook her head in disgust. “Same time different network. It doesn’t matter whose skin you’re wearing, does it? Little mousy Buffy still gets to you. She’s still all you can think about.”

Angelus glared at her. “What I do to her is between me and…well, me. I’m owed that fucking much. Besides, sweetheart, it’s fun. And it’s my business.”

“You kill her, and you can stop worrying about Spike.”

“I’m not worried about Spike. You think I don’t see what he’s doing?”

“I think that your head has been up your ass too long to see anything at all.” Darla cocked her head. “Maybe the big bad Angelus has gone soft over the years.”

“Soft?” he repeated. “Because I won’t kill her? She’s _begging_ for death. With every little whimper, little moan, she begs me to kill her. It’d be the humane thing to do, and you know how I feel about that.”

“So, what, you’re just gonna let her live forever?”

“It’s not like she’s going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Not at the rate you’re going. Who knows, Angelus? Maybe the Slayer will even outlive you.”

The moans from the neighboring room were becoming louder and more difficult to ignore. Darla sighed with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “This entire deal has gone to hell,” she said. “Wasn’t the entire reason we allowed Spike to join our fun to keep your lunatic whore preoccupied?”

“That was your idea.”

“Don’t remind me.” Darla’s eyes narrowed. “He’s still in love with her.”

“With Buffy? Well, yeah, Princess. Welcome to the conversation. He’s never stopped being in love with her, which would be really funny if it didn’t piss me off.” Angelus shook his head in disgust. “You’d think after a hundred plus years, he’d’ve learned something. Namely that it takes more than a few parlor tricks to make me look the other way.”

“Of course, Sweetpea,” she replied, curling into his side. “It takes the entire parlor.”

“It amazes me that he’s survived this long. Just goes to show what blind luck will do for you.”

“Just kill him,” Darla said. “Hell, we’d be doing the world a favor.”

Angelus cocked his head. “No. I’m not going to kill Spike. Not yet, anyway. He’s no danger to us. There’s no way he can get her out. Right now, he’s serving a cause. An annoying cause, but it is rather funny to watch.”

“What is it with you and not killing all of a sudden?”

“Darla,” he berated softly. “How could you forget after so many years? I’m wounded. Really. It stings.” He placed a hand on his chest. “It’s not the kill. It’s never the kill. The kill is just the reward at the end of the maze. Letting them live gives them hope. And you know how funny hope can be.”

Finally, he managed to get her to smile. The smile of a believer, and for many, it was the last thing they saw. “Oh yes,” she chided. “Tragically so.”

That could have been it, and likely would have been had Drusilla’s bellowing not extended the confines of her room. The next minute, the insane vampire burst into their private chamber, eyes wide and hands clutching at her head.

“Oh look, sweetie,” Darla drawled. “We have a visitor.”

“Now, now. Play nice.”

A smirk crossed her face. “Never.”

Angelus entertained blew her a kiss before returning his attention to his wailing childe. “Dru, honey?” he asked very slowly. “What is it?”

“Colors,” she moaned. “So much color.”

Darla flopped onto the bed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t tell me she’s been watching _The Wizard of Oz_ again.”

Dru, shivering, sank to her knees and began rocking herself back and forth. “He’s swimming, Daddy. Swimming. But he won’t take his lollipop. He won’t even give it a lick. All he thinks of is her.” Her hands went to her head again. “Ohhhh…he’s angry. My boy. Naughty. Vile. Shhh. Don’t tell or he won’t get any crumpets. It’s a secret, you see. A dark, dark secret.”

In his centuries of experience, Drusilla was perhaps the only being in creation that had ever earned more than a second of patience from Angelus. It wasn’t always so, of course. On occasion, he became too irritated with her and gave up, but more often he was fascinated. Always fascinated. Second sight was one of those things that drew his interest. “It’s Spike,” he said. “What’s happened? What do you see?”

“He’s coming,” Dru replied. “He and that filthy beast. He’s coming for her.” Her eyes fixed on Darla, who was still luxuriously reclined on the bed. “The other comes for grandmum. Wants to rip her heart out, he does.”

That earned an arched brow. “Someone’s coming for me?” Darla inquired.

“Dirty little demon hunter. Smells of daffodils. Oh, he is not happy with you.”

“Demon hunter?” Darla tilted her head, thought, then smiled. “Could it be? Oh, this is delightful!” The next instant, she bounded to her feet and practically skipped to her lover. “Angelus,” she said. “There’s a friend I’d like you to meet. May I have the pleasure of introducing you two when he arrives?”

Angelus arched a cool brow. “A friend?”

“Friends, bitter enemies. Is there a difference?”

“Who is it?”

“Zachary Wright. Little boy who’s been hunting me since…well, a long time. Well before you saw fit to kill me for your precious Buffy.” She grinned. “Do you remember the maid in Italy? The woman with her little whelp of a child? She thought she was going to be persecuted for having a baby out of wedlock.”

Angelus considered for a moment, then a slow smile crossed his lips. “Ah, yes. I nailed her to a wall and hung the bastard child by her entrails if memory serves. The little girl was a treat. A little feisty, but a good fight always makes them tastier.”

“Mmmm…it was perfect,” Darla cooed. “Anyway, I did the same thing to dear Zack’s wife.”

“Did you, now?”

“Naturally. He pissed me.”

“A crime to be sure. How so?”

“I offered him an eternity at my side. He turned it down.” Darla shrugged. “He would’ve been perfect, too. He had such raw potential. But he wouldn’t leave that female of his. That…human. So I had her taken care of, hoping he’d come around. He didn’t.”

Angelus tsked and shook his head. “Ain’t it always the way? And I suppose you’re the one to thank for his vocation?”

“What can I say? I leave an impression. I know he chased me as far as California. He and his little brat daughter. He might’ve even been in Sunnydale when you…stuck it to me.” She drew Angelus down for a rough, bloody kiss before breaking away with a cackle. “I tell you, he was a nasty bastard. Vengeance changes people. He was brutal. Killing demons as he went along. I was never there, of course, but oh, I heard. He would’ve made such a delightful addition to the family.” A pause, and her eyes narrowed. “Of course, you could never stand the competition.”

Angelus nipped at her lips. “Only where you’re concerned, baby.”

“He’s coming for you now,” Drusilla told her, rising slowly to her feet. “Coming for you alongside my William. They’re angry little wasps. Oh!” She held up a hand, was still a long minute, then fell into a desolate pout. “Humph. Bad dog.”

“What is it?” Angelus demanded.

“There’s someone else,” she replied. “Someone who is not my dearest. Someone who seeks to disrupt our happy home. Mmmm…what a great big hammer he has. He’s going to break the Slayer free.” She drew in a deep breath, her eyes wide with horror. “Oh, Daddy, don’t let him break the Slayer free! Don’t let him—”

“Someone’s coming to free her?” That was ridiculous. No one had access to her bindings besides him.

Unless…

“Lindsey.”

Darla blinked, confused. “What about Lindsey?”

Angelus threw her a dark look. “Your boy’s Christian conscience must be getting the better of him. Only he has the resources, or the motivation, to look into alternative means to get Buffy out. To help Spike get her out. He’s been acting way too…”

“Suspicious?”

“No. Oh no. He’s too clever to act suspicious when there’s reason to be so.” Angelus shook his head. “Guess this means I’ll have to kill him after all.”

Darla shrugged. “Guess so.”

“But first, to some untended business. As funny as Spike’s crush on Buffy is, I’m going to make sure there’s nothing for him to find.”

“You’re gonna do it? Kill her?”

A chuckle rumbled through him. “You make it sound so casual. _Kill_ doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m going to do to her. I’m going to make her bleed so much that he tastes it. I’m going to make sure he screams for her well before he finds whatever’s left.”

Darla frowned. “What prompted this change of heart? By all means, I don’t want to discourage you, but it does seem rather…sudden.”

“Things change. The boy forgets who he’s dealing with.” Angelus grinned and crooked his finger at Darla, who giggled and threw herself into his arms.

“He needs a reminder,” Angelus said, raking a hand up her back. “And I’m going to give it to him. Loud and clear.”

*~*~*

It was morning in Los Angeles.

_Early_ morning.

“Ugh,” Cordelia groaned as she descended the stairs, rubbing her head. “I didn’t even know a 5 AM existed. How is this possible?”

“You’re thinking about the 5 AM at night,” Wright explained. “It’s a difficult transition, I know. Had to make it myself before I started with the demon hunting gig.”

She smiled sleepily, attempted unsuccessfully to muffle a yawn as she collapsed into a lobby sofa. “Well, you gotta hand it to those visions,” she said. “They sure are…timely. When did Spike say he was coming by?”

“He didn’t specify. Only that it’d be morning and early. Who knows? For a vampire, that might be three o’clock in the afternoon.”

A scowl befell her face. “Oh, it better not be. I didn’t just not go back to bed for no reason.” She yawned again. “You think Nikki minded going with the guys to hunt out that…Oeuf demon? Is that how you say it?”

He smiled. “No. Oeuf is French for egg. What you saw was definitely not an egg.”

“You know French?”

“I know _oeuf_ , only because of something my cousin told me once. ‘Why do the French only have one egg for breakfast?’” He didn’t even bother to wait for her guess. “‘Because one is an _oeuf_.’”

Cordy stared at him until he fidgeted. “Anyway,” he continued, “what you saw was a Uvryri.”

“How did I mix that up with oeuf?”

Wright shrugged, grinning at her. “Because you’re Cordelia,” he answered simply. “You’re special like that.”

For all the blood that spoiled his hands—demon or not—he looked almost angelic that moment. It stirred something within her that scared the shit out of her, but the more she resisted, the harder the pull became.

Special. She was special to him.

Well, obviously. They were, for all accounts, strangers, yet they had shared so much. And not just body fluids, though after her ill-fated one-nighter the year before, that was a big deal. Cordelia had never given much thought to a serious relationship. Laughably, the only guy she’d been with for any amount of time was Xander Harris, and look at how that had turned out.

Betrayal. Heartache. Over _Xander._ Needless to say, it had made her a little gunshy when it came to relationships. Throw in a cosmic demon pregnancy after a one night stand and she’d been ready to swear off men altogether.

The feelings she was having for Zachary Wright, however, were serious. Very serious. And they had been there from the beginning. From the way she responded to him physically to how much she enjoyed sparring with him verbally. Somehow it had become serious. And here she was. Here they were. Feeling all these…feelings. These feelings that went way beyond the physical.

And naturally, being an agent for the Powers That Be, said feelings were very off in their timing.

Cordelia realized then that the air between them had grown silent, and that Zack was staring at her, his eyes telling her he knew where her thoughts had been. Damn, this was bad timing. She didn’t know if _good_ timing was a thing anymore. Especially since Zack was still mourning the loss of his wife and child.

But he cared for her. She saw how deeply he cared for her, and it blew her away. Even her parents hadn’t looked at her like that. Wes and Gunn loved her, Angel too—when he wasn’t evil—but there was something completely different in how Zack looked at her.

The way he was looking at her now.

“Cordy,” he murmured, and then he was nearing, his eyes hot like they had been last night, and Cordelia swallowed, terrified and exhilarated and loving him and hating him all at once.

Then he was so close his scent flooded her nostrils, the heat of his skin rising to warm hers. She tilted her head up to him and closed her eyes as he dipped to take her mouth.

Except he didn’t kiss her. The Hyperion’s entry doors swung open, shattering the quiet and reminding her where she was.

“Mornin’ all,” Spike said, strolling inward. “I come bearin’ doughnuts.”

Cordelia and Zack looked at each other for a second longer, and away on the same. “Ohh, what kind?” she asked, leaning over the back of the couch.

Spike flashed a grin. “Krispy Kreme. Can’t go wrong.” As if to demonstrate, he indulged in a hearty bite and rolled his eyes back dramatically. “Mmm, mmm. I tell you, it’s an orgy in my mouth.”

Cordelia snickered and pulled a syrupy sample out for herself.

Wright arched a brow. “Can vamps taste?”

“Contrary to popular belief, damn straight. Everythin’ enhances when you become a vampire, mate, even your sense of taste.” He took another bite, eyes twinkling. There was definitely something about him this morning that made whatever the oncoming hours had in store seem less suicide-mission-y and more errand-y.

He knew they were getting Buffy back.

Spike turned to Cordelia as though anticipating her question. “Angel never eats because he’s a wanker who believes that humanly food is off limits. Believe me, back in the day, he’d sample a little bit of everything. Only grew to be a such a bloody bad sport about it when he got himself all souled up.”

Wright snorted and snagged up a doughnut. “You seem to be in a freakishly cheery mood this morning.”

Spike bounced a little on his heels. “What can I say, mate? I’m wired and ready to go.”

Cordelia’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “How much coffee have you had?”

“A pot when I woke up, a pot after I showered, and I’m pretty sure I downed another between getting you ungrateful sods breakfast and managin’ to get here without bursting into flames.”

“Thanks,” they singsonged in response.

Cordelia shook her head. “I don’t suppose it’d do any good to tell you that that much coffee isn’t—”

“Good for me?” Spike quirked an eyebrow. “Love, I live on a liquid diet. If I was gonna start remarking on all the things that would be unhealthy for a human bloke, I’d look to the smoking first off.”

“Ah, but it is much easier to separate a man from his caffeine than from his nicotine.”

Wright looked at her as though she were insane. “Wanna bet?”

She wisely decided to ignore him. It was the most civil thing to do. “So,” she said to Spike, slapping his hand as he tried to snatch the last chocolate doughnut before she could stake her claim. “What’s the game plan?”

He scowled at her but continued anyway, supporting his weight on the back of a chair and crossing his arms. “I called Lindsey back last night,” he said. “After you two lovebirds scampered off. Everything is set. All we gotta do is show up.” He turned to Wright. “He’ll meet us before we get into the dangerous rot. Then it’s just a matter of how quick you can pull all your fancy James Bond moves. Lindsey activates the backup, I get Buffy down and we skeddadle.”

A long beat settled through the lobby.

“I don’t mean to put a damper on anything,” Cordelia said slowly. “But…the simple plans always have a catch. A dangerous catch.”

“I know.” The light that had been in Spike’s eyes faded a bit—enough to reinforce that he knew exactly what he was doing. What he was risking. “This is our best bet… _her_ best bet. We’ve waited too long for anything else. And I’m not gonna let another day go by without doing…something other than what I’ve been doing.” A pause, and then his face crumpled. But he did not weep, and for whatever reason, that shook her more than tears would have. “I have to get her out, love. I just…I have to.”

Cordelia pursed her lips, covering his sugarcoated hand with her own. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “By tonight, she’ll be snuggling with you. And by tomorrow, Zack and I’ll make you pay for making fun of us when we were…well, for being us.”

One part of an _us_. She liked that.

Wright grinned and slapped Spike on the shoulder. “Listen to her, man,” he encouraged. “She’s a smart cookie and a seer to top all. We’ll get her out.”

“No, you won’t.”

The intrusion of the voice was so sudden that everyone jumped. Cordelia twisted to see Rosalie standing on the second-floor landing, her small hands grasping the rails. She was as white as a sheet.

“Sweetie,” her father said cautiously. “Rosalie, what is it?”

But she wasn’t looking at him; her small, eerily knowledgeable eyes were centered on Spike.

“They know,” she said. “They know, and she is going to die.”


	33. Lasciatemi Moiré

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a graphic rape scene that was not present in the original story.

**_Monday. 5:37 AM_ **

She hung like death, but she was not dead. Not yet.

Strange. She felt certainty in the air. Knowledge that outlasted no other. Today was the day. The day everything changed. The day she died. The day she lived. Whatever was going to happen to her would happen today.

Buffy would have questioned her understanding if she had not trusted it so implicitly. It was there and she knew it was real. She knew everything that had happened thus far was real, and she had no reason to doubt what she already knew.

Spike was coming for her today.

A small smile stretched her lips. Poignant and grieved, but there. Spike was coming for her today.

_Spike._

So strange. Not too much time had passed. Not really. If she tried really hard, she could see herself within her mind’s eye taking notes in her philosophy class. Exchanging pleasantries with Professor Spisak. Though she knew not how late or early it was, she imagined herself getting up for her ten o’clock after wrestling with the temptation to ditch and sleep some more. Willow would be pissed if she started slacking. After all, Buffy’s newfound enthusiasm for education had lent a hand in bringing them closer than ever before. They had argued over the French Revolution and debated how the weight of stress affected her occipital lobe.

That night she would patrol. And Spike would be there.

_Spike._

When had things changed so drastically? She remembered a time not too long ago when his threats to kill her were as numerous as hers to dust him. They had fought. They had strained. They had bled. They had attempted to kill each other ad nauseum. They had never been friends. Reluctant allies, perhaps, but never friends.

And now…now they were so much more than friends.

The dreams she’d had—those right before this and during—she’d come to recognize as prophetic. And Spike had been in all of them in some way. Subtly at first, but with growing emphasis. God bless slayer dreams. They had done what they could to warn her. It was on her for not listening.

She hadn’t known they were slayer dreams before. But after… After, when Spike’s face became more a staple, inspiring comfort and relief rather than fear and horror, and she’d been too worn down to rely on her tried and true defense mechanisms, Buffy had understood.

If she was to survive this, she would do so because of him.

And when the day had arrived that his visits were no longer hallucinations, she had never known such joy. He was really there. Really there to help her. But he never said why.

But then, the dreams had helped her there, too. She knew why. She felt it. She felt it with every fiber of her being.

By some cosmically unfunny twist of fate, he had fallen in love with her. She understood this academically, much the same way she understood that Spike was her way to freedom. The voice that wanted to argue against it or recoil from it had gone hoarse almost immediately. When you were stripped to nothing, you reached for whatever was in your path. Spike had been that.

Her feelings for him were muddled and uncertain, but she knew she had given up hating him. Even before this ordeal. Before anything. He had been by her side in the graveyard, giving her the reassurance that she’d so desperately needed but refused all the same. He had been there from the beginning—from the moment her mother learned the truth about her. It had been Spike at her side. Spike all along.

He was the one who was here. The one who had come for her. The one who was risking everything for her. And he loved her. He had never said it, but he didn’t have to.

After this, what would happen? Did he think that she would revert to form and start beating him up again? _Would_ she? God, she hoped not. As much as being Angelus’s plaything had crippled her, it had given her something else. A something she couldn’t name but knew was important all the same.

That understanding being, Spike was not like other vampires. He just wasn’t. And holding him to the standards she held for other vampires wasn’t fair to him. He made mistakes—he blundered things rather spectacularly—but she could see now that at least he tried. Or he had been trying. A little foolishly, sure, but the effort had been there. Whether it was pointing out to her that no, he wasn’t taking blood from disaster victims or sitting next to her on the back porch, his hand on her back. Helping her kill demons. Not because they were things he could hit, but because they were after her.

These were all things Angelus would never have done if he’d been chipped. He wouldn't have tried. Spike was trying, at least, and he was doing so without a compass.

Except Buffy thought she might be his compass.

That thought was heady and terrifying, but she didn’t want it to go away. She didn’t want to lose this part of herself when tomorrow came. When this horrible nightmare faded into the past.

Because if she couldn’t convince herself that she felt differently…

Buffy didn’t know if love was what she felt. She wasn’t sure if she would be strong enough to love again after this. Her first dip into love had nearly killed her—hell, it might still. Learning to trust someone as she had eventually trusted Angel only to lose him—and not in the way other girls lost their boyfriends—wasn’t something she could just walk off. She’d thought so at the time. Hell, she’d convinced herself that she was over it. The months he’d spent terrorizing Sunnydale were, in her mind, a fog. Not because she’d forgotten what he’d done, rather because she couldn’t. More than anything, she remembered the way she’d felt—that awful, gnawing self-hatred and despair and grief and anger that had all but consumed her.

And somehow she’d rebounded. She’d managed to do the impossible—kill the man she loved. And he’d come back just to break her heart all over again, but that time not as Angelus. That had hurt worse.

For her own good, he’d said.

The reason she hadn’t truly loved Riley was because of that. Hadn’t truly _allowed_ herself to love Riley. Because truly loving someone gave them the power to destroy you. She’d handed that power to Angel twice, and he’d all but crushed her. The thought of doing it again had terrified her, but she’d pretended like it hadn’t. Or she’d hoped that if she didn’t love someone too much, maybe they wouldn’t leave. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt.

But it had…just not for the right reasons. It had hurt because she’d known he was right. Because Riley had seen what she couldn’t. Skilled as Buffy had been at fooling herself, she hadn’t been able to fool him.

The thought that she could love someone else—give herself to someone else—the way she’d given herself to Angel scared the shit out of her.

That was why Riley had left.

But Spike…Spike was different. And she felt differently about him. Maybe because he was entirely unlike Angel, whereas Riley might as well have been her human substitute. Similar in appearance and build, and had Angel not had the whole vampire thing going for him, she imagined his non-tortured self could have been a lot like Riley.

That realization made her feel sick with herself.

But Spike wasn’t Angel. Not in looks, build, temperament, or anything else. For one, Spike couldn’t lose his soul. Spike had already proven he didn’t want to see her hurt. Spike had made efforts to change. Spike had come to rescue her when the easy thing, the thing a soulless creature would do, was join in the fun with his twisted family.

Sure, Spike could destroy her in new, horrific ways that Angel hadn’t explored, but Buffy trusted that he wouldn’t. Not intentionally.

If he did, it would be because his compass had failed him.

And _that_ was the most terrifying thing of all.

Furthermore, she knew him. She knew him in ways she had never known Angel. For his faults, for his goodness, for his anger and insufferable impatience to his kindness and his resilience. He had cried for her when she could not cry for herself.

She had not known Angel when her heart decided that it loved him. She knew Spike.

Buffy exhaled a deep breath. It didn’t hurt as it had just a few short hours ago. It didn’t hurt because she had tasted his blood. The healing agent he’d claimed he possessed was working wonders. While the larger wounds ached still, the minor ones were practically nonexistent. She felt stronger than she had in days.

Because of Spike.

God, she wanted what she was feeling to be love. She also wanted—needed—him to love her. The thought of anything else right now was…

Buffy’s eyes went wide. It hit her with a powerful onslaught. Bold. Unexpected. And she knew. There. There it was.

_Yes._

Did she…

_Yes._

She did.

He was right. Life was irony’s bitch.

“You look happy.” Angelus’s voice pelted her like ice. Not water, just ice. The cold hard sting of reality.

Buffy forced her eyes to open. He was leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, his gaze dark. She hated that. Hated how he knew just how scary he was. How he could intimidate so effortlessly.

There was something different today.

“Now, from where I’m standing,” he continued, pushing himself up with an arched brow, “I wouldn’t think there’s much to be happy about. I mean, look at you. Naked. Beaten. Bruised. Bleeding. Stinking of me.” He paused when he neared, then slowly drew a line up the seam of her sex. “Inside and out. How ‘bout it, Buff? That make you happy? Or have I gone too easy on you?”

He shoved two fingers inside her dry vagina and grinned when she recoiled.

But Buffy refused to close her eyes. Instead, she steeled herself and looked at him straight on. “Well,” she said, “you know what they say. ‘Always look on the bright side of life.’”

“I’m surprised you can look at anything at all. But that’s on me. I let you keep your eyes.” He withdrew his fingers from her and sucked them into his mouth with a wink. Then he turned his back to her and began examining the plethora of goodies that adorned the rack on the wall. “Which of these do you think is best for eye removal?”

“I’m not an optometrist,” Buffy replied, her legs shaking.

“You got some spunk in you today, Buff. I guess I _did_ leave some inside you yesterday, didn’t I?” He shot her a coy look over his shoulder. “Or did Spike eat that out of you, too?”

Buffy’s heart all but cracked her ribcage. Oh god. Oh god, he knew.

Her gaze met his when he turned to face her again and she saw the truth there. The stared at each other for a long beat before his eyes drifted to her mouth. Spike’s blood had dried and crusted around her lips, and while she had not noticed it, he most certainly had.

“He thinks he’s a fucking hero, doesn’t he?”

Buffy debated playing dumb but there was no point. The gig was up. “He is a hero,” she spat. “He’s more than you ever were.”

Angelus’s eyes darkened. It was a familiar sight, she knew. One shared among hundreds of thousands of victims whose lives he’d snuffed out over the years. Very deliberately, he advanced. “And yet, princess,” he said very, very softly, plunging his fingers into her again without warning and twisting. “He’s not here.”

Buffy bit her lip to keep from screaming as her head whiplashed violently, having nothing to fall back upon. Her body cried out but she would not.

“He’s not here,” Angelus repeated, freeing his erection with his other hand. “But I am.”

“Go to hell,” she spat.

“Been there, done that. Can I get you to wiggle this time? Last go, I’d sure like a wiggle.” He shoved himself inside her, and this time she did scream because something else pierced her side. Something sharp and awful that sent fire sprawling up her skin. And he was pounding into her with hard, brutal thrusts, his fangs digging into her throat, the blade in his hand twisting deeper.

He pulled back to favor her with a bloody grin. “I think I will miss you a little,” he said, then tore his fangs at her lips. “You do have the tightest pussy.”

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, the fight fading, the air vacant of anything but Angelus’s grunts and the hard smack of flesh against flesh. The strength that Spike’s blood had given her drained, or rather evaporated like smoke.  All that was left was Angelus.

“Coward,” she hissed through tears. “You’re a coward. You know what they’ll do to you if you actually go through with it. You know.”

Angelus paused, his eyes glinting. “Coward? Moi?” He backhanded her, then tossed the knife to the ground. “I don’t play by the rules, Buff.” He began moving again. “And Wolfram and Hart…can’t touch me. You think they scare me? Lindsey? Spike? Hardly, my dear. But I do so love leading them on.”

“And…yet…” she growled through her teeth. “You…you’re the…the one who’s…been…led…in circles.”

Angelus chuckled, lowered his mouth to her breast and sank his fangs into her. Buffy rolled her head back. Pain had a way of becoming an old friend quite fast around Angelus, which helped dull the shock. Even when he thrust his head back, taking a chunk of flesh with him.

He spat that chunk out, licked his lips, and turned those awful yellow eyes back to her. “What did he do?” he asked, his face shifting back to human as he continued to pump inside her.

Buffy didn’t answer.

“Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You’re hardly in the”—he jabbed her hard with his dick—“position to try and gain the advantage. Spike made you stronger. How? Did he fuck you, Buff? Can’t imagine why not. After all, you’re hanging there, waiting and helpless. And he’s no different from the rest of us.”

She looked at him, eyes shining with tears. “He’s—”

“Ah. Right.” Angelus’s gaze fell to her mouth. “Of course. His blood. That old chestnut. Bold move. Bold and supremely stupid.”

Buffy hardened, her inside blistering. Blood fountained out and down her body—a body that was dying. She didn’t have long now. The corners of the room were beginning to blacken. “It was…” she said slowly, “fucking…delicious.”

This time when he smacked her, she knew it was coming. The blow sent shock waves up her chin and splintered through her bones. For a moment she thought this was it—the last she’d see—and she was glad. Death might mean the end but it also meant _the end._ Angelus couldn’t stab her if she was dead. Couldn’t hurt her. Couldn’t rape her. Couldn’t reach her. In death came relief.

Except she didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to leave Dawn or her mom. She didn’t want to be without her friends. She didn’t want the last lecture Giles had given her to be the actual _last._ She didn’t want Spike’s last memory of her to be _this._

The world threatened to blink away but it came back into focus.

Angelus was no longer inside her. He was standing a foot or so away, glaring at her with his human eyes.

“You think he’s coming to save you?” he spat. “You think I’d allow that?”

“I think…” she said slowly, “that…you…are not nearly…as strong…as you’d like…me to believe.”

Angelus grabbed his cock and gave it a pump. “Do you need another demonstration, sweetheart?”

“If you were so strong…you’d give me a sporting…chance.”

Angelus crossed his arms. “I know my limits, Buff. I’m just having fun finding yours.”

“And yet.”

He stepped forward, and that was it. She understood. No more games. No more sparring. Just this. He had come here with purpose. He had come here to kill her. He had come here to hurt Spike for his presumption and to silence her for good.

A long smile drew across his lips when he saw she understood, and then the demon face was back. Angel’s fangs had failed to faze her during their courtship and they failed again now. If he meant to kill her, she would not cower. She would not beg. Every minute since waking up in this nightmare, she had known it could end like this.

Now it would.

And still, Buffy internally called out for Spike. He wouldn’t know. Ever. He would never know, much less believe, that she loved him. That she had found solace during her last minutes—that he had managed to give her something beautiful in the middle of all this pain. Her sister, her mothers, her friends…they knew how much she loved them. All of them. But Spike didn’t.

Her deepest regret.

“Is that what you want, then?” Angelus asked. “Your freedom? That I give you.” His fangs neared, and she felt them skim the bite mark Angel had left behind two years ago.

The last bit of that love—the part that had remained—gave a final flicker and died.

She had forgiven. She had rescued him. She had placed him above herself.

And this was her reward.

_Fool me once…_

“But as all things…” Suddenly her arms were free, falling with blessed, tender relief to her sides as all the aches and pains that had made her body their home soared to life once more. Her basic instincts screamed at her to fight him. To hit him. Strike him. Kick him across the room.

She didn’t. She couldn’t. Her muscles were sore from inaction. Buffy blinked dazedly as Angelus buried his head in the crook of her neck—and it hit her. Unquestioning. Undoubting.

Knowing was one thing. Understanding was something entirely different.

She was going to die.

“Freedom has a price. You want yours, Buffy, and you can have it. I just hope you’re happy with the way things worked out. I know I am.”

And that was it. A pain like no other touched her skin, embedding through layers of tenderized flesh that had once been loved by the same face. Dying screams climbed into her throat, clawing their way to freedom. It touched every sense. Every nerve. That rawness. That heat. That blessed vat of nothing.

A blaze of color faded into the void. Feeling drained from her. Completion. She heard someone enter, but didn’t know who. Distantly, a voice told Angelus that an untamed vampire was on the grounds and that it was time to leave.

_Spike._

Too late. Too late. He was too late to stop this. And she lacked the strength to hold on.

Buffy tumbled down an endless spiral far before she actually fell. And by the time she met the cold of the floor, she did not feel it. Could not. And she remained as that. An object in the room.

_Too late._


	34. Hello

**_Monday. 5:28 AM_ **

There was a time that Lindsey McDonald could remember laughing at Lilah Morgan for her rigid punctuality to match her early mornings and late departures. However, seeing her darkening his office doorway now, the last thing he felt like doing was laugh.

Lindsey looked at her a long moment, doing his best to keep his expression blank. If she was here for a reason, she’d reveal as much quickly. So he decided to ignore her, not feed into her game, and instead resumed flipping through paperwork.

"So, that's it, then?" she asked. "No 'good morning'? No 'nice to see you'? Really, after all we've been through together, that hurts."

"I thought it best not to lie."

"Then you're in the wrong business."

"Is there something you want, Lilah?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"It's a statement with a question mark tagged on the end. Answer however you like."

A shadow of a smile crossed her face as she stepped forward. "They know," she informed him. "The Senior Partners. They know what you've been up to."

Lindsey’s heart skipped as he looked up. "Whups."

"You signed your own death warrant."

He offered an apathetic shrug, trying and failing to muster up fear. "So what if I did?"

Lilah’s mouth formed a line. "You gave up everything to prevent the unpreventable. I hope it was worth it. I hope you don’t have any regrets."

"There are many things I regret." He dropped his pen and leaned back, folded his arms across his belly. "This will never be one of them."

"You sure?"

"Positive." He grinned. "Oh, come on, Lilah. Don't tell me you're disappointed. You look like your dog died."

She crossed her arms and walked a pace across his office. "I don't think you've considered the consequences of your actions, Lindsey. I really don't. Yes, the Order has been a disaster, but the Partners would have eliminated them if that was what they wanted. Your taking matters into your own hands is going to make you a hostile liability."

"Say that again then ask me if I give a damn."

"You doing this because of her?"

"Do you care?"

"Not particularly."

Lindsey glanced down. "I'm doing this because what's happening to her, what he's done to her, what we did to her is wrong," he said. "I would tell you to not pretend to worry, but I know that's not necessary. Once Spike and his demon hunter arrive, it'll be over. And you won't see me again."

Lilah's eyes sparkled. "Pity." She turned then and made for a haughty exit. At the door, however, she paused and turned to him again. "There is just one more thing."

"Oh?"

"Those tapes you were so interested in...well, I had to take a peek, myself."

Lindsey went very, very still. "And?"

"Something very interesting happened, oh, ten minutes ago. Seems Drusilla's let the cat out of the bag." A nasty smirk crossed her lips. "Angelus was...well, the term 'madder than hell' comes to mind. He's going to kill her. Well, not to be hasty, he's going to torture the shit out of her, then kill her. About time, too, if you ask me. Oh, don’t worry. The Partners stepped in. Not to prevent her death, of course, but they are interested in making sure Spike reaches her. They want him to see what happens to clients who break contract. Of course, Angelus wasn’t happy about that, but that wasn’t anything a little sedative couldn’t fix." She gestured over her shoulder. "Some of the guys from real-estate and I are going to make some popcorn and watch the show. If you hurry, you can join us."

For a moment, Lindsey thought she might be speaking to him through a tunnel. The words seemed long and distorted. One minute he was sitting there, listening to her like a rational person, and then raw impulse overwhelmed him, and he bounded for the door.

He didn’t get him far. The next thing he knew, Lindsey was on the floor with Lilah hovering over him, stun gun in her hand.

"I thought you might try something stupid."

*~*~*

Lilah gave Lindsey a swift kick, which felt damn good, so she did it again, and one more time for good measure.

_Idiot._

She tossed the stun gun onto his desk with a sigh, keeping her eyes on him, prepared to respond in case he stirred. But he didn’t. He was out.

In more ways than one.

“Stupid Lindsey,” she muttered, dragging her cell phone out of her pocket. A few punches, then she raised the device to her ear. "Lilah Morgan here. Lindsey McDonald is going to require some very minor medical attention as soon as possible. You will find him on the floor in his office. Be cautioned, his injuries might leave him temporarily delusional, so do not allow him to leave until he has clearance from myself or the Department Head." She nodded, fighting the temptation to kick her stupid colleague again for putting her in this mess.

Hell, maybe _she_ was the stupid one for saving his life—she didn’t know. But she couldn’t not try. There were few lines Lilah hesitated to cross, but this was one of them.

"One more thing,” she said into the phone, “do not be alarmed if the vampire monitors detect something unusual. I had Spike's authorization stripped last night—we want to know the minute he enters the building." A small smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "No. The Senior Partners want him to reach her. Angelus and the others are not permitted to intervene. Just make sure the deed done before Spike arrives. We don't want him interrupting anything."

*~*~*

 

**_5:41 AM_ **

The first beads of daybreak broke the sky before they reached the building. Cloud cover, plus a few well-placed buildings and shadows, prevented this from being an issue.

Even so, Wright figured someone out there was watching out for his friend because Spike sure as hell didn’t seem to notice or care.

"You all right?" Wright asked, even if he knew it was unneeded.

Stupid, stupid question.

Spike didn't answer. He hadn't said a word since leaving the Hyperion. Instead, he barreled forward with single-minded intent through the doors of Wolfram and Hart.

"We following the plan?" Wright asked. But he knew the answer. Spike didn’t give a shit about plans, and Wright couldn’t say he blamed him.

Inside now. The quiet lobby of a building that was never quiet. Stillness.

That was it. All the solid evidence he needed to confirm what Rosalie had said was true, even if he had known it from the beginning. Rosalie was never wrong.

Spike tossed Wright and tossed him a Colt .45. "Kill anythin' that moves," he said coldly. "That's the soddin' plan. Savvy?"

Zack stared at the gun as though it would bite him. It felt awkward in his hand. "I...you want me to shoot people?"

"Not people. These aren't people. They're butchers."

"That doesn't—"

"Well, Angel never had a problem with it before he went bad. And trust me, if you find a magical loophole in that warped sense of logic, these blokes must be anything but human." Spike's eyes were afire. He was dangerous to anyone in this state. "They have Buffy. Don' stop shooting until I have her out."

"It's too soon," Wright protested. "We can't know that Lindsey'll be ready. That the Gregori guy you mentioned—"

"I get to Buffy. That's all that matters."

"But—"

"That's. All. That. Matters." Spike threw a menacing glance over his shoulder. "Aim for the kneecaps if it makes you feel better. But if you decide to get stake happy for people who don’t matter, I swear, Zangy, I will snap your neck in two seconds and you can't do a damn thing to stop me."

A long pause settled between them. Only days ago, had someone told him that a vampire would threaten him to his face and live, Wright would have scoffed and whoever had been dumb enough to make that prediction would have limped away with a broken nose. But it wasn’t days ago. It was now. And Wright knew, watching the vampire, that had time turned itself around and it was Amber's life on the line, no man could have prevented him from rescuing her. From taking her from that horrible fate.

He would have killed to get her back. He would have spilled human blood and not regretted it. How could he begrudge Spike for feeling the same? How was he supposed to tell him that it was wrong to murder those who stood between him and the woman he loved?

These lawyers were only biologically human. That was where the line ended.

"We'll get her out," Zack agreed. "Without having to snap any necks...except those that don't belong to me, naturally."

At that, Spike’s eyes softened. "I mean it, Zangy. I like you and I don’t wanna be the reason that you don’t go home…but I will if it comes down to it. If it’s you standing between me and her."

"I'm not going to stand between you. Beside you, maybe, but not between." He offered a small smile. "That's what friends are for, right?"

Spike stilled a second longer before a heartfelt, however pained grin rose to his lips. "You have the worst timing ever," he muttered. "Picking _now_ for our sodding Full House moment?"

Wright shrugged. "Better late than never. Just wanted to let you know that I've got your back."

"Thanks, mate."

"So whaddya say we go get your slayer?"

Spike flashed a grateful grin. "With pleasure."

Their eyes met with latent understanding. And that was it.

The first steps into alien territory went surprisingly well. Too damn well. While Wright hadn’t had the pleasure of strolling through Wolfram and Hart before now, he figured that a company built solely to manage evil on earth would at least leave someone manning the front desk overnight. But the lights were off. Everything was off.

"It's so quiet," Wright muttered.

Their steps were not. Spike could not be deterred for any reason. With a crossbow astride his shoulder and a firearm curled in his fist, he only had one purpose. And Wright understood, but the curling sensation in his belly had every natural instinct in his body on high alert.

Ahead of him, Spike stopped abruptly. "This isn't right."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious."

"This is…"

*~*~*

And then he felt it.

Spike's eyes went wide. "No."

No. It wasn't possible. They weren't too late. They couldn't be too late.

But he felt it. An unnamable thing he hadn’t realized lived in his belly but did. A thread drawn between them—a thread he’d carried with him every time he had to leave this miserable place, just so he knew the way back. The thread was vanishing. At the same time, the pulse of her heat that he’d carried with him, the heat he'd felt after pouring his blood down her throat, began to flicker and fade.

Then it was gone altogether.

Wright grasped his shoulder. "Spike?"

He didn't answer. Couldn't. He was barely aware he was there at all.

_Buffy._

"Oh god, no."

Thought abandoned him then, and he was running, legs pumping, dead heart lodged in his throat. In those last few minutes—the longest and shortest of his life—there were very few things that he understood. He knew that Wright was behind him, running against the strain of time. Screaming at him, demanding what was wrong. Spike blocked him out. He couldn't think—couldn't feel but for her. The primal stirring that found that connection with her was screaming its agony. He wouldn't listen; couldn't. It simply couldn't be real.

Not too late. He would _not_ let them be too late.

Angelus's scent poisoned the air so thickly he felt he might choke. It was everywhere, but it wasn’t alone. There was something else. Something worse. Spike’s ears began to ring as though his thoughts could be blocked out. As though the awful thing he knew could be unlearned, undone, and everything made right again so long as the words didn’t solidify in his head.

He needed to smell _her._ Feel the burn she’d left in him when she’d taken his blood.

But it was gone.

Gone, but...

And then he knew. It was horrible, knowing. Understanding. Realizing that Angelus's scent was not alone. In its company was blood. Her blood.

Buffy's blood.

The scene was so still when he first looked and saw her. Lying on the floor, dead as night. Abandoned in a pile next to the chains that had been her prison. There was nothing then but that realization.

And then a terrible sound filled the air and bounced off the sound of his weapons hitting the floor. A piercing, guttural wail that pained his ears, striking unerasable marks into his heart. He could not think. Could not breathe. Could not stop himself from racing to her. At her side, he nearly slipped and fell once more, bringing her body into his arms. And breaking.

_Breaking._

The room might as well have been unoccupied. He gave no thought to anyone. Not to Wright. Not to the cameras that had captured their stolen moments in time. He held his slayer to his chest, sobbing relentlessly into her hair, screaming madly and cursing himself for being too late. Cursed himself for killing her.

He had killed her.

And then he was on the floor with Buffy lifeless in his arms, rocking her back and forth as unintelligible sobs and broken promises spilling from his lips. She was warm. She was still warm. Still warm. They had only failed her by seconds. He peppered kisses along her faces and felt the taste of her dried tears as they clashed with his own. His hands skimmed her skin, clutching at her, begging her to return. To come back to him. To not be dead.

But it was too late. She was gone.

And he was shattered.

*~*~*

It was seven years ago. Seven years ago all over again. That horrible sickness in his gut, climbing up his throat, spreading like venom through his veins.

Not fair. Not fucking fair.

Wright sucked in a deep breath that damn near made his bones ache. Experience mingled with despair. And in that moment, Spike's pain was his own.

_But,_ the devil on his shoulder whispered, _it doesn’t have to be like this._

No, it didn’t. Amber had died but Buffy didn’t need to. Why else, then, would he have heard about the Slayer’s everlasting soul? Sometimes the world handed you what you needed, just as the world punished you for taking those you loved for granted.

Maybe his having learned about the Slayer’s soul, how it survived where normal souls did not, was the world’s way of forgiving him for throwing Amber in Darla’s path. For begrudging her even for a second. For letting her die. It made a strange sort of sense, really. One life for another. That had to be his lesson—the thing the universe had been trying to tell him when Amber died. When their son had died.

Hell, more than that. The universe had done all it could to educate him. First by taking away the woman he loved more than life for being an idiot, then by shoving him in Spike’s path. Every step he’d taken since burying his wife had led him here. The universe wanted to see what he had learned. What decision he could make _now_ that might undo the damage done before.

Hadn’t that been the lesson?

Not again. Not twice.

Never again.

Slowly, carefully, Wright approached. Spike was still rocking Buffy’s lifeless body, murmuring prayers into her hair. Pleas. Whispers. Promises.

"I'm sorry. Oh god oh god oh god I'm so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I wasn't fast enough. I wasn't..." His voice broke again, trembling as he clutched her closer, another hoarse cry clawing at his throat. "Don't leave. You can't leave. I never got to tell you. My fault. It’s all my fault. Buffy, baby, please. Please don't leave me. My fault."

Wright pursed his lips. "Spike—"

Spike shook his head, trembling, and buried his face in golden locks of bloodied hair. His hands had curled around her shoulders. "Forgive me. God, Buffy, forgive me."

There it was. A decision. A dangerous decision.

If Wright had ever doubted the validity of Spike's feelings, it was all washed aside. And he could not allow this. He couldn't allow someone who was not a demon to suffer as he had. Not if there was a choice. Not if there was a way to make things right.

“Spike.”

He didn’t know what it was, maybe the way he said his name, but Spike looked up.

Wright raised the hand holding the gun and shot him square in the chest. He watched as Spike fell back, his eyes a mess of confusion and grief and shock. Zack paused, then fired again, this time sending a bullet to the heart, and the vampire was down for the count. It wouldn’t keep him out long, but Wright didn’t need long. He just needed _enough._

The gun dropped from his hand, which, while clammy with his nervous sweat, didn’t waver when he pulled out one of the many blades he kept on his person at all times. Then he was kneeling over his friend, one booted foot keeping Spike on the ground as he seized the vampire’s wrist. The vein opened with a bloom of red, and then he had Buffy in his arms, Spike’s bleeding flesh pressed to her lips.

He hadn’t saved Amber. Couldn’t. But the Slayer’s soul was still alive. It had to be alive. This was his chance to make it right.

Spike stirred after a few long moments, his eyes pressing open. Wright kept his gaze on him, even as he gently stroked the Slayer’s throat to encourage her to swallow. Through his years of practice, of hunting and research, he had absolutely no idea if this would work. If it was too late for her or not. But there were truths to be reckoned with; if there was a way to save her, this was it. And he would not rest until he knew that he had done everything he could to keep her here.

“Wha…Zangy?” Spike blinked dazedly, then winced as Zack added pressure to his chest.

“Just a bit longer now,” Wright said. “I’m fixing it.”

Spike looked confused for a second. Confused, pissed, and then he understood.

“What the bleeding hell—”

But then Buffy was moving. No longer limp in Wright’s arms. She lurched forward, seizing Spike’s wrist and holding it to her mouth as she began drinking in earnest.

A horrible roar tore from Spike’s throat and his fangs descended. He shoved at Wright, but Wright shoved back, digging his boot into the place where the bullet had pierced the vampire’s heart.

Spike roared again, a strangled sound somewhere between fury and pain. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving her,” Wright replied calmly.

“This isn’t saving her, this is—”

“Wes told me.”

Spike snarled again. “Wes told you to vamp her?”

“He told me that slayers keep their souls,” Wright replied. “She won’t be a monster. And she won’t be dead. She’ll be…”

But his confidence was waning, chased off by the horror flooding Spike’s face. He didn’t understand it. Life was better, right? Life was always better. And there had been too much death. If he could keep Buffy alive…

The next time Spike shoved him, Zack didn’t fight. He stumbled back, but Spike came with him, his arm still trapped in Buffy’s grip as she feasted on the blood pouring from his open wrist. Then she started wiggling, moaning, and Wright couldn’t hold onto her anymore. Buffy met the floor and all but crawled into Spike’s lap, her eyes glued shut and her mouth fused to his skin.

“Buffy—”

But she was pulling at him in earnest now, and Spike seemingly lost the power to speak. His head rolled back, his mouth going slack. And Buffy drank and drank and drank.

And Wright didn’t know what to do, so he watched. Pools of uncertainty churned in his gut, but he did not wish to consider his actions now. Not now. There would be time for regret when it was over.

It seemed hours passed before Buffy yanked herself away, falling back into Spike’s arms in a caricature of death. As though the exchange had been a mirage. Wright breathed slowly, steadily. Bloodstains marked her mouth. Fresh and alive. And even though he wasn’t against her, he could feel it. Her body burned with newfound warmth.

And slowly, slowly, Spike seemed to return to himself completely. The somewhat dazed look that had filled his eyes faded, and then the horror was back.

"No." He stared at her, the body in his arms that was soaked through with blood. "God. God. No."

Wright cleared his throat, tried to find his voice. He needed him to understand. "I'm sorry. For shooting you. I…just…"

"What have you done?"

Wasn’t it obvious?

"What I had to."

"No, Zack." Spike looked up, his eyes perfectly clear. "What have you _done_?"

In that moment, Wright wasn’t sure, himself. The path had seemed so clear. No more would die.

Yet he’d shot Spike to keep him down. Because he’d known that he would object.

_Why?_

He had no answer. He had nothing. No apologies, even, because he wasn’t sorry.

If Amber could have been saved like this, he would have taken it. He would have done anything to keep her alive.

Spike would see that. He was a vampire, himself. He had to understand. It was the shock. The grief. The pain.

He would understand.

Wright hadn’t had a choice.

Buffy _had_ to live. And now, thanks to him, she would.


	35. Tower of Learning

Leaving Wolfram and Hart was surprisingly simple, even with a lifeless slayer bound in a leather duster and cradled in the vampire's arms. Wright walked intently alongside his companion, ready to blow holes through anything that stood in their way, but nothing did.

It was fortunate that Spike had an armful of slayer, because he wasn’t sure what he’d do to the man standing beside him if his hands were free. One part of him burned with fury and the other…

Now that it was over, that the deed had been done, he didn’t know.

All he knew was that Buffy would not wake up in this god-awful place. So he’d wrapped her in the duster he’d pulled off his second slayer and kept his eyes locked ahead.

He did not want to think of what happened next. If she hated him, truly hated him, he didn’t know what he would do.

But it was too late now because there was no way he could be the one to kill her. And that was what Wright had done to him, never mind what he had done to Buffy. This bloke had damned him. He was in a place where he’d either let her open her eyes as a vampire or kill her as a human. And he didn’t have the strength to do the latter.

So he carried her, walking with intent through the sewers toward the Hyperion, and tried not to think about what was coming, what had happened, or how badly he wanted to bash in the brains of the man at his side.

"Spike?"

He tightened his jaw.

"Spike?"

Flexed his fingers over the leather of his duster.

"Spike, for Chrissake, say something."

"There's nothin' to say."

"I think there is."

At that, he couldn’t help himself. The demon roared, ready for a fight. "Yeah. And as we all know, you're bursting with brilliant ideas."

"It was all..." Wright sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It was everything...all that we could do. All that I could do."

"You've ruined her." Spike stopped dead in his tracks and turned to the man he’d come to think of as a friend. "You've... How can you not know what you've done? You out of all the bloody people in the fucking world oughta know that. You dedicated your life to this. To..." He fell silent again. There weren’t words enough for this. "You know what you've done."

"It...she..." Zack closed his eyes as though begging for strength. "She will keep her soul. Wes and Cordy assured me that if she was turned, she would keep her soul."

"Right. Small compensation for losing everything else. Guess that makes it okay, then? And why the bleeding hell were Wes and Cordy giving you tips on siring a slayer?"

"I wasn't planning this and you know it. It came up in passing conversation. I was worried about what would happen if Angelus turned her. I didn't..." Another sigh painted the air. "I didn't want to have to approach you with the possibility of having to kill her."

“So you decided to let her become the thing she hates instead.”

“She gets to live!”

“Would _you_ wanna live like this, you stupid sod?”

Wright shrugged. “Working out fine for you.”

“I don’t have a soul!”

“Well, she will. Way I see it…” He looked down. “She gets to live. She gets to keep living. What is wrong with that?”

“As the thing she hates. Keep forgetting that?”

“She’s not going to be like Darla and you know it,” Wright snapped. “She’s not going to be the thing she hates because she _will_ have a soul. All that’s changed is her diet. I saved her fucking life back there, so if you want to get around to a thank you, now would be the time.”

Spike stared at him, incredulous. “You believe that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“So if my fangs were to slip into your throat, you’d want me to open a vein to keep you in this world, is that it?”

Wright gestured at Buffy. “If I knew I’d wake up feeling like me, yes.”

“Even though you hate my kind.”

“I hate _Darla_ ,” Wright snapped. “Your kind? Fuck if I know anymore. But if there was a chance to stay with Rosalie, if all it meant was I switched up my diet, then yes, I’d take that.”

“How the fuck do you think this works? Buffy wakes up and sends you a sodding thank you card?” Spike stared at him for a moment, broke off with a laugh. Anger burned his chest but there was something else there too. Something more like pity. “I thought you knew your stuff, mate.”

“I couldn’t… I had a way to save her. I took it.”

“Yeah, and you were so keen on it being the right thing that putting two in my chest for laughs.” Spike shook his head, and he turned and continued toward the Hyperion. “You knew what you were doin’. You knew I wouldn’t go for it so you did it yourself. And now she’s gonna wake up and bloody hate me for all of sodding eternity."

"She won't."

"I didn't save her, did I?"

"You didn't kill her, either."

"No. I just handed her an existence that she's never gonna forgive me for. That...she..." A lingering beat of resented rage tore through him. "I can't believe you did this."

"I had to."

"You keep saying that. Never heard of a vampire hunter forced to make a vampire."

"It had nothing to do with that and you know it. I did it because it meant something for..." Wright shook his head and sighed a deep breath. "When I lost Amber...it nearly killed me. It probably should have, given how naïve I was at the time. If I had had the opportunity, I would've done anything to save her. Anything."

Spike made a noncommittal sound, eyes drifting to Buffy once more. "Siring her wouldn't have saved her."

"I know."

"It wouldn't have even been her when she—"

"I know."

"Vamps have the memories and the—"

"I know. But she would...she was Amber. And I would've done anything then. Even that." Zack sighed. "It's different now, of course. I wouldn’t make that decision with her. I don’t think I would."

"But you would for the woman I love.”

"You know why I did it, asshole. She's...I couldn't stand to see someone go through what I went through, especially when there was a way to stop it. She's a slayer. She—"

"She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve an eternity of pain to spare my feelings."

"You have the power to fix it now if you feel that I was that out of line."

Spike stopped shortly and glared at him. "You son of a bitch."

"Well what? If I did such an injustice to her, kill her before she rises. It'd be the merciful thing to do, wouldn't it?"

There was a long, dangerous pause. Then, slowly with marked resignation, he expelled a deep breath and allowed the tension in his shoulders to roll off. "You know I can't."

"You mean you won't."

"That's right."

Wright arched a brow and waited.

"I won't," Spike repeated, hating himself. "I won't lose her again. I'm not...I'm too bloody selfish to lose her twice."

"I know."

His head shot up. "Don't do that. Don't for one second pretend you're better than me when you've just told me that—"

"I'm not, Spike. We're even. Completely." Zack shook his head heavily and they continued walking. "There've been a lot of things that I've done and I'm not proud of. A lot. The decision I made back there is not one of them. I might doubt myself, I might hate myself, but I know...I know that it's better to try and save someone from what I went through than sit from the goddamn sidelines. You're a vampire and I hate you for it. You know I hate you for it. But I think I hate you for being a man more than anything else." He smiled when Spike glanced at him in surprise. "It's easier when monsters behave like monsters. When they prove to be men, that's when you question your integrity. I'm not better than you, Spike. I'm the same. We're the same. We're both men with monsters locked inside, and there's not a damn thing either one of us can do about it."

For a few seconds, it seemed the entirety of the Los Angeles underworld went quiet. It took only a beat or so in retrospect for Spike's anger to begin to wane. It wasn't much, but it was enough. It was enough for both of them.

A sigh coursed through him and his guard slipped. "You still don't know what you've done to her."

"I know," Wright replied quietly. "Just as I know it had to be done. Angelus murdered her because he knew that you were coming for her. I'm not about to give him that advantage."

"This is more than him."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"It's about her. It's also about you. I know it would've destroyed you. It would've made you into one of them." Zack smiled grimly and turned to continue. "There might be a lot of wrong in what I did, Spike, but neither one of us is gonna fix it. You would've grieved, then you would've lost it. You would've...you would've become dangerous."

"And that’s no sodding reason to—"

“We agree to disagree.”

“I'm already dangerous, Zangy. You forget that.”

"No, I don't. I can't afford to. But I also know that you're a good man, despite being a bad vampire."

"I’m not—"

Wright snickered. "Right. You're not. Come on. Falling in love with your enemy? Going against your family? Becoming the honorary leader of Angel Investigations—the crime fighting squadron? Yeah. You're not. Tell that to me again, but this time try to sound like you believe it."

Spike went still for a minute. "I’m not the honorary leader."

Zack gave him a look.

"I’m not!"

"Right. And everyone's just sitting on their tail ends waiting on word from you because it's so productive."

"They just knew how important it was to get Buffy out."

"Important to you."

"She's the Slayer, mate! It doesn't get more important than that."

"There would've been others. So is the lifeline of the Slayer." Wright's hands came up in a measure of defense. "I'm just saying. I came into this not knowing shit about slayers, but I've done my reading and Cordy's filled me in on all the gray areas. Slayers aren't meant to grow old, Spike. Buffy's death was inevitable anyway you looked at it. Trying to save her, while noble, would've ultimately been a stall at best."

"Well, thank god we had you to solve that problem."

"What I did had nothing to do with her being the Slayer. I had to get her back."

The vampire snorted. "Right. 'Cause she means so much to you."

"No. But I know you…better than I'd like to. Buffy is your link to humanity. I'm not so stupid that I can't see that. She's the reason you're here with me at all. She's the reason you're not the monster you're supposed to be." A sigh rolled off his shoulders. "I couldn't risk that you'd revert to form because then I'd be forced to kill you."

"You might hafta yet."

"I know."

"It’s a part of having a vamp as a chum, Zangy."

"I know."

"So you just thought you'd spare yourself and instead condemn the woman I love to an existence that she's gonna bloody well hate me for...for having any part of?" Spike sighed and shook his head. "I'd rather have her dead and feeling whatever she was feeling for me toward the end than alive and hating me forever."

Zack nodded. "How selfish of you."

"Bloody right." The vampire grinned wryly at his friend's surprise that he would accept such a calm resignation. "For the first few years, mate, I could live with it. I could live with it as long as she's happy. If by the grace of god she overcomes her transformation and…if she can be happy, that's all that matters."

"Why do I sense a big ole nasty 'but' in that clause?"

"Because eventually her friends are gonna snuff it. Then she's gonna be left alone." Spike expelled a deep, mournful breath. "And when it comes down to that, I don't want her seeking me out 'cause I'm all she's got left. I don't want her...like that. Whatever happiness she has for the whole of fifty years is gonna be nothing compared to the loneliness after that. There'd be no one else for her. No other vamps. No Angel. No one. I don't wanna be the last resort. Not after what we've shared." He shook his head. "I don't want her to spend the whole of eternity hating me for being too bloody selfish to give her up. I don't want her crawling to me for being the only one left. I just…"

There was no reason to clarify. Wright, it seemed, finally understood.

"But you still won't kill her."

"No. I can't." Spike made a pitiful sound and shook his head. "I can't kill her, even to spare her that. No matter what I…I lost her once today. It nearly destroyed me. Those few seconds nearly destroyed me. I can't do it again."

There was a snort. "What we have here is an ethical dilemma."

"For two blokes who don't really favor ethics, it’s a pretty sizey one."

"Maybe you're wrong. Maybe she'll see that."

“Gave up believing in miracles when I was a tyke. No reason to start up again.”

*~*~*

By the time he crossed the threshold of the Hyperion, Spike felt mentally checked out. He barely registered Cordelia’s gasp, or the way she commanded Rosalie to go upstairs. He didn’t want to chat with anyone. He just wanted to get her somewhere comfortable.

Fuck, it was the least he could do.

But then, as he’d learned, he never really got what he wanted.

"Oh my god." Cordelia approached him slowly. "Spike...I'm so sorry."

He tried and failed for a smile, a thousand different things swarming his mind. The Angel Investigations lot needed to know what was going to happen tonight. That they weren’t burying anyone. That Buffy might be dead but she wasn’t gone. But he couldn't say it—couldn’t bring himself to form the words.

So instead, he nodded at Wright. “Fill her in, would you? I’m going upstairs.”

Cordelia’s eyes were wide with concern. "Why?"

"To clean her," he explained. "I'm not gonna let her stay like this."

And that was it—there was nothing else to say.

He carried her to the master suite. Angel’s room, the one he’d avoided like the bloody plague, but it was the nicest one in the joint and that was what Buffy deserved.

Even better, Angel’s scent had all but faded.

In the adjoining bathroom, Spike stripped Buffy of his duster, turned the shower on hot, and entered, fully clothed, with her in his arms. It was quick. He scrubbed her skin until the water circling the drain was rust-red, massaged shampoo into her scalp, felt the places where Angelus had hurt her the most.

Feeling the rage he thought impossible to intensify expand and nearly break his chest.

But he didn't linger in the shower. Just stayed long enough to get the worst of her clean before moving them to the tub.

Time and experience had taught him many different ways to care for someone he loved. He couldn't fathom how often he’d tended to Drusilla in a similar manner. Bathing her. Feeding her. Even before Prague, his deranged ex-lover had implored him to pamper her, care for her, bloody well wait on her hand and foot. And now he was taking care of the Slayer in a way that he never would have wished upon her. One of the things he loved most about her self-reliance. That and her fierce determination to care for others. He had never wanted to see her so weak. So needy. Drusilla had needed him, and that had been enough.

Buffy had needed him too—she’d said as much before—but he didn’t want her like that.

Despite how he tried, he couldn't see beyond tomorrow.

He had a feeling the night would be a plague of these thoughts. Right now, he needed to make sure that when she woke, she would be warm and loved. That she found the world a better place than the one she had left. That she knew, despite how things might have changed, that she was safe here. With him.

So he bathed her. Thoroughly. He cleaned her cuts and mended her wounds, even as they began to seal themselves. The transformation was claiming her. Vampirism in cahoots with her slayer power.

_The gods themselves do tremble._

When he had done everything he could to make her wake comfortable, he dried her off with and carried her back to the bedroom, where he found a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt laid out on the bed and Cordelia’s scent in the room.

His chest filled with warmth. _Thank you, pet._

Spike laid Buffy on the bed, dressed her, then situated her under the blankets. She was too pale. She had always been paler than any other normal Californian but her color now was nearly nonexistent. Kept too long from the sun and subject too often to torment and pain. And now this. Lifeless. Dead.

He hated it.

How long he sat with her, he didn’t know. Time had been his enemy from the start, and ultimately what had claimed her life. A matter of seconds between his arrival and her death, and another handful separating the moments between the instant he’d seen her and when Wright had put a bullet in his chest.

Wright. Fucking Wright. Just picturing the sod made his fangs itch, inspired the monster that called his body home to rearrange the demon hunter’s face.

Wright didn’t think in terms of forevers. His world was split between the dead and the living. Saving a life, then, meant exactly that—keeping the person in this world at whatever the cost. The fact that he didn’t see what he’d condemned Buffy to only reinforced this. As long as she awoke, he felt justified.

Wright might have dedicated his life to destroying the undead, but he’d never truly understood them. If he had, he never would have done what he’d done. He wouldn’t have viewed it as saving anyone.

And Spike didn’t know what to think about that. He’d be lying, though, if he said part of him wasn’t grateful. The part of him that was entirely evil and selfish and hoping beyond anything that Buffy would be Buffy when she opened her eyes. That she wouldn’t hate him for what she’d become.

But she would. Of course she would. And he’d deserve it.

Sometime past dark, the door creaked open and the scent of warm blood hit the air. Spike turned to the door and was greeted by Cordelia's warm, sympathetic smile. She offered him a mug, then took a seat at the end of Buffy’s bed without a word.

Spike regarded her carefully before turning his attention to the mug. It seemed forever had passed since he’d last eaten. "Thanks," he said hoarsely and indulged a large gulp.

She shrugged. "I thought you could use a friend."

"Is that what we are?"

"Oh, don't. Don't even."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yes, you are. You're brooding." Spike’s eyes went wide, and she brought her hands up. "I'm just stating a fact, here. And trust me, I'd know. Hello, worked for a brooding vamp for two years. I think I know the signs."

He snickered and took another drink. "That was below the bloody belt, you know."

"Of course. I'm Cordelia. I only aim below the belt. It's the only way to get the point across."

Spike tried for a smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. His heart was in the bed, waiting to wake up and shatter.

"You did everything you could," Cordelia said softly.

He couldn't help it; he snorted. "Yeah. Sure did."

"I wasn't talking about that."

"Doesn't matter. I was."

"And again with the brooding. I'm going to need to whack you upside the head every few seconds to keep this from becoming a dangerous habit, aren't I?" She sighed when he didn't answer. "He did what he thought was right. You know how he feels about this."

"Y'know, after today, I’m seriously beginning to have my doubts."

"Right. And that's why you met him while at the wrong end of a crossbow."

"Pet, at my age, you're not looking to find many things that I haven't seen the wrong end of." A sigh coursed through his agonized body, and he leaned forward. "She's never gonna forgive me for this."

"Sure she is."

A bitter chuckle rumbled through his lips. "It’s not that simple."

"Of course not. But everything's forgivable, Spike. Even for stuck-up slayers."

"Watch it."

She arched an eyebrow. "You speak as though it's not the truth."

"Haven't you ever heard of respecting the dead?"

"Yeah. Kinda figured that one's a pick and choose type of thing. Selective respect. Wouldn't want to be respecting the wrong sort of dead."

Spike smiled ruefully. "Got that for bloody right." His gaze once again fell upon the Slayer. She remained as she had before. "This is a terrible feeling."

Cordelia nodded. "Being afraid?" She smiled at the look he gave her. "It's okay to be afraid from time to time, you know. Even for a vampire."

"I've never been afraid before."

"Yes you have. You've been terrified since you first came here. Terrified that she'd die." When he stiffened, she sighed. "It wasn't your fault, Spike. You did everything you could. Absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent everything you could. I've never seen anyone care for anyone the way I saw you care for her these past few…however long you've been here."

An embittered chuckle rumbled through his body. "Funny how you lose track of time when you're having fun, innit?"

"That's not how the saying goes, and you're purposefully steering me from my point."

"Didn't know you had one of those."

She smirked. "Thanks. My point is, this is the first time that _waiting_ has been a part of the saving-her job. That's why you're feeling your fear now."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I don't like it."

"Well, Pouty McPoutsAlot, what are you gonna do about it? Sit up here and brood?" Cordelia followed his gaze to the bed, where Buffy lay still unchanged. "She'll forgive you."

A choked sob that he hadn't realized he had been harboring spilled from his lips. Funny how emotion could creep up on him. He had never thought he’d be so fucking open. "You can't know that. You don't know… She's gonna hate me, Cordy. And I can't bloody well—"

"Anyone who's seen you at all since you got here knows damn well what you've been going through to get her back. And if you're that transparent to us, then I can't begin to imagine just how much you've revealed during your private time with Buff." She covered his hand with her own, encasing his cold with her warmth. "She'll understand. It wasn't your fault, Spike. She'll have to see that."

He shook his head. "She's gonna hate me."

"Then, frankly, she doesn't deserve you."

When he whipped his head toward her, she offered nothing more than a sincere smile. And at that moment, he knew for the first time what it meant to have friends. Real friends. People that would stand by him, through the good and bad decisions. People that accepted him for what he was.

It was spectacular and only served to terrify him more.

Things were so much simpler when one lived alone.

"I'm gonna head back downstairs," Cordelia announced, patting him twice in support before standing once more. "You really oughta come with."

"No. I’m staying here." Spike turned back to fully face the bed. "I'm not gonna leave her until... I’m not gonna leave her."

"Man, talk about commitment."

"Cordelia..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll be back up in an hour or so…just to see if you need something."

"Thanks, pet. I appreciate it."

She droped a kiss on his cheek. "No prob. Anything's better than sitting around while Wes is in research mode. Something about the girl I saw in my vision earlier."

Spike nodded noncommittally. "Oh."

"Yeah, it was a thing before…well, it was a thing." She moved to the door. "Remember, we're all downstairs if you need anything."

"Kinda hard to forget."

Though he sensed her linger a few minutes, Cordelia didn’t say anything else. And then she was gone, and he was alone again. Alone with Buffy, who still hadn’t moved. Alone with his dark thoughts. Alone with his fear.

And waiting.

*~*~*

He ended up on the bed beside her. Couldn't explain why fully.

Well, he could. Sure he could. The separation was enough to kill a weaker man—he felt it through every unholy strain in his body. The connection their combined blood had forged. Anything and everything.

And if he were being honest, he would admit that he wanted the opportunity to hold her once while she slept. Just once. Once before the world he had created for them shattered. Before his nightmares became reality. Before he looked into her eyes and saw hatred bounce back at him.

Spike rested then, his hand finding hers. And then, the words he hadn't allowed himself to say stormed his throat, and he had to let them out.

Just once.

"I love you."

There. It was out there. At last, it was out there, even if she hadn’t heard him

With that, Spike's eyes fluttered shut. And for the first time in days, sleep caught up with him.


	36. Morning Song

“Well, well,” Wright drawled as the doors to the Hyperion swung open. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Lindsey McDonald glared at him, rubbing his brow as if to banish a headache. “Could you possibly think of something a little more cliché, because that just wasn’t cliché enough.”

“I’m sure I could if I tried.”

He didn’t respond, rather looked to Cordelia. “What happened, do you know?”

Wright snickered. “What? And we’re supposed to believe that you don’t?”

“They didn’t tell me anything, all right? I couldn’t even get clearance to leave the building until an hour ago. By the time I got to my office, my things had been removed and, for all I know, disposed of.”

Lindsey chuckled, rubbing his brow harder. And Wright had to admit, the guy looked like he’d been hit and rolled over by a semi-truck.

“I guess I owe Lilah a thank you,” Lindsey said. “In some perverse way, she saved my life.”

Cordelia frowned and motioned for him to take the vacant plush cushion in the middle of the lobby. “What do you mean?”

“No, no,” Wright snapped. “He’s not staying.”

“Zack, he looks like hell.”

Lindsey’s brows winged upward. “Thanks.”

Cordelia shrugged. “Well, you do.”

“I don’t care if he looks like the Pope. He’s not staying.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Lindsey said, “do I know you?”

“We have a mutual acquaintance.”

“Great. That shortens the list to people in this and approximately fifty surplus demon dimensions. Way to help.”

“I do my best.”

“GUYS!” Cordelia held up a hand. “It’s not like fighting’s going to change anything. Quite frankly, I already feel a headache coming on, and if there can ever be a day when I don’t have one, I’d really prefer it to be now. ‘Cause you know. Seer. Headaches. Kinda acts like an accessory to the action figure package.”

“What’s Evil doing here?” Gunn asked as he and Wes came into the lobby.

Cordelia tossed an acidic smile to the ceiling. “Thanks, PTB. I appreciate it. Oh, by the way, when I die from severe hemorrhaging, it’s so going to be your fault.”

“Now, now, Gunn,” Wesley said, “we don’t want to jump to any conclusions.”

Gunn snorted. “Right. We end up with a sired slayer on our hands and now a spokesman from Hell Incorporated shows up? I don’t really consider that jumping to conclusions. More a very unhappy coincidence.” He crossed his arms and jutted his chin at Lindsey, eyes dark and serious. “You gonna talk, bro?”

“Sired slayer?” Lindsey demanded, jumping to his feet and looking to Cordelia for confirmation.

Wright couldn’t smother his snicker. “Yeah. Like you didn’t know.”

That remark earned him a glare from Cordelia. “Back off, Zack. He’s telling the truth.”

“And what? Your magic powers tell you so?”

Gunn’s hands went up. “Hey man. Chill. If Cordy says it’s cool, it’s cool.”

“Oh. Right. Because Cordy’s all wise, all knowing, all powerful.”

Cordelia recoiled as though he’d slapped her. Wright nearly felt it before she did, and was immediately flooded remorse. “I didn’t mean that,” he said softly. “That was out of line. That was…I’m sorry.”

She glanced looked. “Sounded like you meant it.”

“I didn’t.”

Lindsey raised his hand. “I’d like to second Cordelia on this one.”

Zack smiled at him. “Well, I’d like to see you castrated. I’ll give you yours if you give me mine.”

Lindsey blinked at him. “Do I _know_ you?”

“I don’t care if you know me. I know you. And I know you’re affiliated with the corporation that murdered my friend’s girlfriend. That’s all I need to know. So take your fucking business elsewhere. We’re out of rooms.”

Gunn frowned at Wes. “We are?”

Wesley shook his head. “It’s a metaphor. Albeit, not a very good one, but a metaphor nonetheless.”

“That’s too bad,” McDonald replied, not looking away from Wright. “I was so hoping for a vacancy.”

“Tally another notch for the Bad Metaphors Party,” Cordelia muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Sorry. We don’t let ruthless killers stay with a smile and a nod.”

Wesley’s brows arched at that. “Well, actually…”

“It’s all right,” Lindsey said, waving dismissively. “I’m a lawyer. I’m accustomed to hypocrisy.”

That was it. The proverbial breaking point. Wright stormed forward, heated with rage. “Fuck the rest of it,” he growled, shoving the lawyer with the reserves—the energy he used only on demons. The sort of strength that required years of training to hone. Lindsey fell back, visibly surprised, but made no attempt to retaliate. The accusation came again. Heated. Raw. Black. “You _murdered_ my _friend’s_ girlfriend.”

Another brutal shove and Lindsey was on the floor, panting harshly. “Actually,” he said, fighting to his feet. “I was incapacitated. I knew too late, all right? I was in my office waiting for Gregori and the next thing I knew, I was in the medical wing. They had me unnecessarily stabilized for eighteen hours as Lilah pulled every string she could to get me out of there in a taxi rather than a body bag. There was nothing I could do, all right? Not a damn thing.”

“Nice.” Gunn whistled. “What I wouldn’t give to have friends in high places.”

“Friends?” Lindsey sputtered indignantly. “Hardly. I don’t know why she did it. I really don’t. Call it professional courtesy or don’t. Call it whatever the fuck you want.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. What I do know is that I woke up without a job, a car, or an apartment. Everything’s been seized by Wolfram and Hart.” His spread his hands. “I’m homeless.”

Wesley frowned. “They fired you?”

“I’m saying so. And hey, I’m not complaining. Firing me was the tamest thing they could’ve done. I’m surprised, quite frankly, to be standing.”

“Why?”

Lindsey perked a brow. “Why? Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

“No. Why did they fire you? There must have been a reason.”

The answer to that seemed obvious. “Because I’m a liability.” Lindsey emitted a long, burdened breath. “Because since Buffy was escorted into my office, I have done nothing but watch them torture her and try to figure out how to get her out. And yes, while my actions were not fast enough, while…while everything I did or didn’t do bit me in the ass…I did try.”

“Yeah,” Wright agreed sharply. “You failed.”

Lindsey’s eyes narrowed. “With all due respect, so did you. And…do I know you?”

“He’s a friend,” Cordelia offered.

“Yeah. That I gathered.”

“He’s also somehow gotten the idea that this is his hotel,” Gunn said dryly, glaring at Wright. “Yo, man. I like you. I really do. But you can’t just waltz in here and start playing boss. We all voted Wes in. Deal.”

“Well, Charlie,” Wright retorted, “I don’t work for Angel Investigations, and even if I did, at this point, I wouldn’t give a flying fuck.”

“We’re all worried,” Wesley offered. “These past few hours have been easy for no one.”

“You can say that again,” Lindsey muttered.

“But bickering amongst ourselves isn’t going to solve anything. There’s blame enough to go around.” Wesley turned his gaze heavenward and heaved a troubled sigh. “Until Buffy rises, we do not know what to expect.”

“Except that Spike’ll stay with her,” Gunn said. “It is not easy tryin’ to get that boy to move.”

Wright cleared his throat and cast his eyes to the floor. “What…what do you think she’ll… What do you think she’ll do?”

“Besides whup his ass several times from Friday for turning her into a member of the pulseless society? Beats me. I don’t even know this chick.” Gunn turned to Cordelia and Wesley. “You guys know her. What do you think she’ll do?”

“Don’t ask me,” Cordelia replied, shrugging. “With as much as I’ve changed since high school, I’m willing to bet it’s double for her.”

“I’m willing to bet it’s not,” Wesley countered. “Slayers cannot afford to change, Cordelia. No matter how long they live. Waking in a world such as this where she has been transformed into the very creature she was chosen to kill… I do not envy Spike in his task to calm her. There is a reason slayers are not turned. It’s a dangerous business.”

“So glad you’re going over the _dangerous_ part now,” Wright remarked dryly. “Lord knows it wouldn’t have been good to do anything rash.”

“You did what you thought was right.”

“I can’t begin to tell you how much comfort that does not bring me.”

“Guys,” Cordelia said, holding up her hands. “This is getting us nowhere. Standing around and speculating’s not high on the helpful list. The best thing any of us can do right now is give Spike some peace. I’m sure when Buffy wakes up, the last thing he’s gonna want is a bunch of people around to watch—”

It was times like these that the acoustics in the Hyperion were noted for being superbly underestimated. Spike’s voice nearly shook the place to the ground, seemingly emanating from all corners, all walls. It touched the air, soared to a life of its own, and reverberated with haunting stillness even after the tag died without ceremony.

“CORDELIA!”

A long, uncertain moment passed. All eyes fell on her.

“You were saying?” Lindsey asked, arching a brow.

Cordelia shrugged. “I could be wrong, you know.”

*~*~*

He awoke slowly, his mind taking him down pathways perfumed with cherries, sunshine, and Buffy Summers. As though light itself was sentient.

Spike rarely dreamed. When he did, the visions produced were so realistic that he seldom knew they were conjured out of falsity until he awoke. He had dreamt of holding Buffy once, of kissing the breath out of her while she whimpered about how much she wanted him. Of telling her he loved her and watching her eyes widen in…well, not shock or disgust. That dream had fueled him for countless miles.

He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep and it didn’t matter. Buffy was beside him. He felt her hand in his. Felt the cool satin of her skin. If he inhaled, he would be flooded with her scent. It was more than one person could ever ask for and he was asking.

And something was squeezing his hand.

Spike’s eyes fluttered open. And he froze.

Buffy was looking at him.

Every nerve, every impulse wrought into his system froze. It was unsettling—watching her remember. Watching realization cloud her eyes. Watching as she learned…

He didn’t know how long she had been awake, and the notion bothered him.

There were so many things he wanted to do. Simply seeing her look at him was enough to knock the proverbial wind from his lungs. It was astounding—the clarity behind those eyes that had been all too recently dead. _God oh god,_ this had been a bad idea. Being in the same bed with her while she took her first minutes as a vampire was unspeakably intimate. He felt like an intruder who had robbed a house blind only to return to steal the log from the fire as well.

It came slowly. Recognition. Spike remembered those first few minutes of waking all too well. One of the few things that time and age had failed to touch. The fear. The bewilderment. The body’s craving for blood—a hunger unidentifiable until the first sip. The lack of warmth. The lack of a heartbeat. All the things that mortals took for granted every day. Everything that separated vampires from everyone else.

Buffy’s eyes cleared as she looked at him. She shifted, and his body flowed with her as though under a whim uncontrollable by earthly forces. Her hand tightened around his until her eyes went wide. Then her grip relaxed, but she didn’t release him.

Oh god…

Spike didn’t realize his own eyes had drifted shut until they shot open when she whispered his name against his lips. When he looked at her, she was close. So close. There was no revulsion in her gaze. Just simple acceptance. Dazed acceptance.

He realized all too late that she wasn’t with him. Not entirely.

“Buffy?”

She blinked twice before smiling and snuggling deeper into the pillows. “Spike…” Her hand found his face and he wanted to cry. How long had he wanted this? Right now, he couldn’t imagine a time not wanting it.

But it wasn’t his. He had to give it back.

Buffy, however, didn’t seem to know that. She explored his skin in soft, feather-light strokes, each making his insides twist. It awed him when her eyes became watery. As though the contact could stimulate her as it did him.

But there were tears. There were tears in her eyes. Her gorgeous, vibrant, alive eyes.

“I’m dead,” she said simply. “Is this Heaven?”

Numbness swept his body. “Heaven, sweetheart?”

“It’s warm.” That was likely the comforters covering her body—vampires were not allowed warmth. It was always artificial. Always borrowed. Always not theirs. “It’s warm. I don’t hurt. He’s gone, isn’t he? Angelus is gone.”

Spike nodded slowly, carefully. “He’s still around, love,” he clarified. “But far away from you. He won’t touch you again.”

“You’re here.” She smiled sleepily and the image nearly broke him. God, he must be such a disappointment. “And I can finally touch you.”

She ran her hand ran through his unkempt platinum locks. Every move she made, every word she spoke, made his heart constrict. He trembled beneath her exploration, battling the incursion of emotion that threatened to spill forward in all his bumbling glory.

“I’ve wanted to touch you,” she murmured. “When you came to see me, I wanted to touch you, but I couldn’t.”

Spike’s vision blurred. “Buffy—”

“You found me, though.”

“I—”

“I’m sorry. I tried, Spike. I tried so hard.” Her grip on him tightened. “I knew you were coming for me. I knew it. God, I felt it. I felt it and then he was there. And he—”

Spike fought the urge to bolt from the bed, the pain in his chest exploding. He couldn’t stand the account of her death. Having lived as he had for the past twenty-four hours, living it again through her eyes would likely kill whatever was left of him. Feeling her pain. Her fear. Her shattered expectations. That blinding faith that had gotten her killed. It was the epitome of selfishness and he hated himself for it.

But he didn’t tear himself away. As much as he knew he needed to, he couldn’t. These would be the last seconds with her.

She was going to hate him, and he couldn’t stand the thought.

“Buffy…” he said hoarsely. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled. “Please…”

“Spike—”

He pulled away with more of the same and couldn’t help himself. If this was all he was going to get, he would take it now. His mouth found hers and drew her in—needy and desperate. Kisses intermingled with tears. She denied him nothing, rather gave him whatever he wanted and more. Pressed herself—her breasts, her hips, her body—against him so intimately it nearly undid him.

But he shouldn’t kiss her. Shouldn’t touch her. This was taking advantage. If he hadn’t done that before, he certainly was doing it now. And god help him, he’d come too far to be the monster again.

So he pulled away, reluctant though he was. “I’m so sorry, love. I…I didn’t want it to happen.”

“It’s okay,” Buffy said, though he knew it was not because. Then she snuggled herself into the crook of his throat and lapped delicately at the skin she found here.

_Fuck…_

“Buffy—”

Then he felt her fangs sink into his throat and his body wanted to cry out its pleasure. Logic, however, forced no boundary.

She was a newly risen vampire that needed to feed.

This was enough to drive him away. Out of the bed, away from the allure of her body, her scent, her borrowed warmth.

When he looked at her again, he found her near tears. A ribbon of blood dribbled from her mouth, but she didn’t seem to notice it. Her eyes were on him, full of hurt and rejection.

That was the final piece. She wasn’t herself. She hadn’t been since waking. She hadn’t even realized that she had bitten him.

It was not a difficult decision to make. He couldn’t be in the room alone with her like this. He might not be the monster he had been, but he wasn’t a man where it counted, and the devil on his shoulder might convince him to take a step back if he wasn’t careful.

So he called for the first person that came to mind.

“CORDELIA!”

Buffy’s eyes were filling with tears again. Not the good kind.

“Spike,” she said, “tell me what’s going on. Am I dead? Is…what is this?”

Words and confessions choked his throat. It was fortune then that the door opened.

“Hey,” Cordelia said in a manner that was both breathless and entirely too casual. “What’s up?” It was a futile question; she looked immediately to the bed. “Oh. Hey, Buffy.”

“Cordelia? What…”

“Cordy, pet,” Spike said, his eyes on the Seer. He needed her to hear him now like she never had before. “I need to feed her.”

He didn’t want to say _blood_. He didn’t want to have to acknowledge to both her and himself what it was that Buffy’s body needed.

Fortunately, that was all the explanation required. With a short nod, Cordelia disappeared down the hallway. The silence that followed was the darkest and loudest he had ever known. He refused to look at Buffy. He didn’t want to risk seeing the understanding there. Her confusion, her failure to yet grasp at reality… He didn’t want to be looking at her when she understood that she wasn’t dead. Not really. That he hadn’t saved her. That he had, rather, condemned her for all eternity.

“Here.” Cordelia was in the room again before he knew it, mug in hand. For the first time since his human death, the scent of fresh blood turned his stomach rather than excited it.

But he found himself holding the mug the next instant and knew the rest was up to him.

“Do you need me?” Cordelia asked. “I could get Zack if—”

“No.”

“Really, it’s no—”

His eyes flared and his tone became clipped. “No.”

Cordelia nodded, pursing her lips. “Right. We’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” Her gaze fell upon the Slayer once more and she offered a small smile. “It’s really, really good to see you.”

Bewilderment flooded Buffy’s face. “Cordelia?”

Spike stepped forward. “Cordy—”

“Right.” Cordelia held up her hands. “I’m gone.”

Buffy glanced back to Spike. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” he said, stepping forward with the cup of thick liquid red temptation. “First, I need you to be a good girl and drink this up for me. Can you do that?”

“No, tell me what’s—”

The second he stepped closer, though, her expression turned ravenous and whatever she’d been about to say died. He’d known it was going to happen, had known her hunger had intensified the instant the blood had been brought into the room.

When she met his eyes again, that familiar hunger shouted back at him. “Yes,” she said.

_Yes._

“Right.” Spike neared and gave her the mug.

This damn well felt sacrilegious, as though he was finalizing her pollution with something he could undo if he wanted it enough. As though the blood on her lips would signify every mean to every end. _Drink of the cup. It is my blood and is poured out for you. Do this in remembrance of me,_ and all that rot.

The cup was not filled with his blood. It did not need to be. His blood was already in her. It had brought her this far.

He watched her, breaking, as she downed every last, sacred drop.

Buffy was a vampire. He’d made her into his own image.

He had damned her.

Spike collapsed wearily into the chair he’d been in before and buried his face in his hands. It couldn’t last, though—he couldn’t hide from her forever. Wanting would never make it so.

“Umm, Spike? What happened?”

When he looked up, he saw her examining the empty mug, her mouth lined with red, her eyes narrowed with confusion and comprehension and a thousand awful things in between.

There it was.

“I…” He forced himself to his feet. “I didn’t mean it, Buffy. I tried. You were there and you were dead. You…” A sigh of defeat rolled off his shoulders. No more stalling. No more lies. “You’re a vampire.”

The silence that embraced them was as fatal as any he had ever endured.

Then she blinked. Once, twice. “Oh.”

Spike reeled, not understanding, then understanding too bloody much. Her mind was piecing itself back together.

Buffy wasn’t with him. Not where it mattered. The room, door, blanket, and bed might as well not exist. She was living in a dream world.

The knowledge broke his heart all over again.

“Come on,” he said, “I’m gonna give you a bath.”

She didn’t need it. He did. He needed something to distract himself. Give his mind time to process this Buffy that wasn’t Buffy. Not the Buffy of before, not even the Buffy who had been tortured by Angelus. This was a different Buffy altogether and he didn’t know how to help her. Well, he knew what he’d do to help Dru—minus the lethal options—and maybe that was good enough here. Buffy didn’t seem to notice that she was already clean, as it was. Instead, she nodded and kicked her legs over the side of the bed to join him.

Spike decided then that the best way to avoid a breakdown was to continue talking. This also helped prevent his mind from taking him down a rabbit hole. He began chattering about the Hyperion. How her former Watcher and Cordelia were running a nifty little setup. He mentioned Wright and his weapons collection. He shared his adventures as though reciting a history book. He did anything and everything to keep her occupied as the bath began to fill.

“Sung me a piece down at Caritas,” he was saying as he lifted her shirt over her head. The marks that had bruised her skin were close to fading, but he did not tell her that. He wanted to draw her attention as far from herself as possible. “Charlie wanted me to do Billy Idol—ha bloody ha, right?—but I figured I’d stun the crowd. You know me, expect the unexpected. Didn’t work, of course. Apparently no one there had heard a vamp sing Elton John. So I had to do another.”

She nodded dazedly and turned in his arms, allowing him to draw her hair over her shoulders.

“Lorne sent me to meet Zangy after that. He was…”

Spike trailed off when he realized that he had lost his audience—that whatever delayed attention she had given him was no longer his for the taking. When he looked up to see what had caught her eye, he felt dead blood freeze within his veins.

There it was. There it fucking was.

At that moment, he didn’t know what was worse. The horror on Buffy’s face or the understanding underneath it. That wretched understanding. The knowledge that had finally surfaced. The same that would seal whatever was left of either of them.

She was cemented on the floor, staring at the mirror.

But nothing stared back.


	37. Sacrament

Gunn eyed the lobby door. Still no change. No one in, no one out, no moving that he could see. The slayer’s ghostlike aura had started affecting the others, and he didn’t like it. Especially since he didn’t know the girl. Didn’t seem right that she could have that much power over everyone under the Hyperion’s roof.

He turned to Cordelia, who was flipping through a magazine at the counter. “How long has she been out there?”

“Just short of two hours,” she replied, not looking up.

“Doing…what?”

“Coming to terms.”

“And, what? We’re supposed to not talk to her? Not approach? After what we went through to get her back?”

“You oughta know out of all people that what she’s going through demands privacy.” Cordelia closed her magazine with a sigh and pivoted so that she could lift herself atop the reception desk. “Trust me, compared to the wig fest I was expecting—and, to be completely honest, still am—we’re getting the blunt edge of the sword.”

Gunn furrowed his brow. “She’s gonna take it out on Spike, then?”

“For his sake, I hope not.”

“But you don’t think so?”

Cordelia shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to expect. I know what I would have expected from Buffy, but she hasn’t…she’s just been out there. Not doing anything. And yeah, kinda creepy, but think about it. She knows Spike loves her. I mean, if she doesn’t by now, she’s dumber than a rock.”

“No argument there.”

“But she’s also what she hates the most. Her entire existence has been turned upside down.” A sigh rumbled through her body. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to expect of her anymore. I just…I can’t see anything.”

“Whoa. We are in trouble.”

Cordelia shot him a nasty smirk. “Aren’t you going somewhere?”

Gunn nodded. “Just waiting for the boss man,” he retorted. “Wes and I are hittin’ Caritas and the usual hangs to dig up the skinny on that girl you saw in your vision.”

“You already checked the library?”

“No one fittin’ her description has worked there for years.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Of course. It’s not like we don’t already have our plate full. We’re short one champion, up another with severe antihero issues, have a vamped slayer on our hands, and—”

“In the meantime are babysitting for your new honey?”

She frowned. “Rosalie’s fine.”

“Oh yeah. Rosalie’s a peach. It’s that Nikki girl that—”

“Gets you hot and bothered?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I am so not into her like that.” Gunn shuddered. “She’s smoking hot and full of spunk, I admit, but she makes me edgy. Like I’m tainted by association or whatever.”

“Working for a vampire makes you an honorary vampire?”

He nodded. “Or whatever.”

“She hasn’t talked to me much since she got here. She keeps mostly to herself.” Cordelia cocked her head. “Though she does seem to come down a lot when you’re around.”

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

“Well, if Zack happens to decide to hang around here after all is said and done, I’m sure it’d be better to have some incentive for her. Especially if said incentive came in, oh, say…a nice hunka demon hunting package.”

Gunn held up a hand, chuckling. “So that’s what this is about?” he demanded. “Tryin’ to find a reason to keep your boyfriend and his little monsters around? Doesn’t he have some kinda unfinished business around here, anyway?”

Cordelia’s eyes darkened as though she had been insulted. “No, I’m not trying to keep him here. I’d like it, sure. I’d really, really like it. Zack’s…he’s a special guy. A special guy that I really don’t want to say goodbye to. But I’m not doing anything to try and convince him to stay. If he wants to, he does. If not, he doesn’t. It’s as simple as that.”

“Why?” The question seemed to surprise her, and he responded with another laugh. “I don’t get your logic, is all. If it’s going so well, you should try to work it out.”

“There is no _it_ , Gunn.”

“No it? Hell, I know I’m not one to lecture on the science of long-term relationships or…stuff. But I know enough to know that whatever it is you two have definitely qualifies as an _it_. Zack isn’t a fling guy.” Gunn waved at her. “He chose you because there’s something there. Because you have…whatever it is that you have.”

Cordelia pursed her lips, her expression turning wistful. “I don’t know.”

The air between them fell thick. Gunn didn’t know what else to say—didn’t really know why he’d brought this up to begin with. Wasn’t like it was any skin off his nose either way. But he liked seeing Cordelia happy, as happiness had been in short supply as of late. And the demon hunter seemed to do it for her, for whatever reason.

Still, relationship talk was not his forte. He was more than a little relieved when he heard Wes and Nikki coming down the stairs.

“Are we going to that demon place?” the girl was asking with far more interest than the situation warranted. “I’d be fine with that, you know. It was amazing. Your friend was so informative. And that’s coming from _me_. Personal growth and all that whatnot. I was all about the looking past the fact that he’s a green demon and likely has some nasty baby eating habit and—”

Cordelia held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa. What’s going on here?”

“We made the somewhat colossal mistake of introducing Ms. Wright to Lorne,” Wesley explained. “After convincing her to not chop off his head, we demonstrated why it’s beneficial to associate with empath demons. She was more than taken with him.”

“Kinda scary,” Gunn agreed.

“For the thousandth time, Wes, my last name is not Wright. I’m _Amber’s_ sister, not Zack’s.”

“Apologies.” Though he sounded anything but apologetic—more worn down and apathetic. Then he turned and cast a glance to the double doors that led to the atrium. “How is she?”

Cordelia sighed. “Difficult to say.”

“Has she asked for anything?”

“No. She…” She sighed again, followed his gaze, and gave her head a shake. “She came downstairs, said she was a vampire and went outside.”

“She’s been out there ever since,” Gunn said. He looked at Cordelia. “Did you see the look in her eyes? So…”

“Empty,” she agreed softly.

“It was creepy.”

“Not to completely change the subject,” Nikki said. “But where’s Zack?”

“Upstairs, trying to get Spike to come down.” Cordelia smiled weakly. “He feels bad…responsible.”

“As well he should,” the girl agreed. “Turning the Slayer into a vampire isn’t something I’d call his shining moment. In fact, he hasn’t shown an ounce of good sense since we met up with you people. I mean, even Spike was against her transformation. If that wasn’t an indication to—”

“Nikki,” Gunn growled.

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, stop saying.”

Nikki’s eyes narrowed. “Look, I know that once I came to the hotel, I entered some sort of freaky vamp rehab facility that has fucked with my brother-in-law’s head. He’s all with the ‘Spike’s a good guy’ motto, too. That so does not swing with me; I don’t give a shit what any of you say. Watching Zack give up everything to sponsor a bloodsucker and even go out of his way to make a new one? I—”

“Stop,” Cordelia barked. “You have to know how difficult that decision was for him.”

“And yet, he made it.”

“He made it to spare Spike what he went through when he lost your sister.”

A shadow befell Nikki’s face; dark and dangerous. She stepped forward, eyes flashing. “You know nothing about that.”

Gunn and Wesley exchanged nervous glances.

Cordelia remained respectively calm. “I know what I saw.”

“What? You think since you’ve fucked him that you somehow get some sort of special—”

Gunn grasped the girl by the shoulder. “Stop there before you’re stopped.”

She spared shrugged him off with a sneer. “He made the decision to spare a vampire’s feelings,” she spat. “I don’t even know him anymore.”

“Spike’s his friend.” Cordelia, ever neutral, stepped forward. “Spike’s become _our_ friend, too. His being a vampire is not an issue. Angel’s a vampire, too. And yet we’re still here.”

“Angel. You mean the guy that really killed the Slayer.”

“That wasn’t Angel,” Wesley said softly. “That was Angelus. There is a difference, Nikki, and you must respect it.”

“He has fangs, he drinks blood, and he only comes out at night. Not seeing much difference.” She stepped toward Cordelia, gaze not wavering. All civility from the conversation had vanished. Nikki was afraid, though, of Zack warming to vampires or the threat that he might be ready to put grief behind him, Gunn didn’t know. Probably all the above. “Same thing with Spike,” she continued. “He’s no longer helpless. He’ll turn on you.”

“With all due respect,” Wesley said, “if it was Spike’s intention to do so, he would have by now. It is not in his nature to wait.”

“He has to be the most impatient man in the world,” Cordelia agreed.

Nikki shook her head. “Man, you call him. _Man._ ”

“That’s enough.”

Gunn looked up, finding Wright on the veranda, peering over the rail. In the days since the hunter had come into their lives, Gunn didn’t think he’d seen the man look more haggard. The whiskers on his face were a few minutes away from maturing to a beard, his hair was wild, and the dude was visibly pissed.

Probably best to get the girl out of his line of fire before he exploded.

Gunn curled his grip around Nikki’s forearm and tugged her to the door. “Come on,” he said. “Time to go.”

She refused to budge for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Time to go. People to save and all.”

*~*~*

For the first time in days, Cordelia had no idea what Wright was thinking, and that bothered her. She watched him as he watched the others file out the door, his gaze hard and daring. He didn’t so much as blink until Wesley called his farewell over his shoulder, and the hotel lobby fell quiet again.

Then he sighed and looked at Cordelia, his shoulders dropping. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should’ve taught her better.”

“You taught her as you needed to,” Cordelia replied. “It’s her choice to remain this way. I mean, look at you. You’ve grown amazingly accepting these past few days.”

A weak smile drew across his lips. “I haven’t completely changed my tune, you know.”

“Yeah, you have. Obviously, or else we woulda totally kicked you out by now.”

He shook his head, sighed, then made his way downstairs. “I don’t know if I’ll ever accept what I did.”

There was no need for clarification. Knowledge was a nasty storm, and it hung in a purple cloud over the Hyperion, waiting for the downpour.

“Does that really matter?” she asked softly. “You did it because you thought it was right.”

“I still do.”

Cordelia frowned. “Then…?”

“I can’t explain it, Cordy. It’s one of those things that I’ll have to come to terms with on my own.” He was beside her, then, emerging from seemingly nowhere with eyes that were redder than she would have liked. Stressed beyond the limitation of stress. And slowly, he spared a glance to the atrium. “Any change?”

“None.”

“She’s going to hate me for doing this, isn’t she?”

Cordelia smiled and brushed a kiss across his lips. “That’s what Spike said,” she replied. “Only he thinks the blaming is going to be aimed more at him than anyone else.”

“She has no reason to hate him. I did what I did before he could retaliate.”

“Yeah. I know that, you know that, he knows that, but can’t accept it.” She exhaled deeply. “As for Buff… Well, we won’t know until we know, you know?”

Wright stared at her for a full minute, a warm smile spreading across his lips. “You’re an amazing woman, Cordelia.”

“Duh.”

“I mean it.”

“What, and I don’t?” She spared him a teasing wink. “Don’t try looking, Zack. The word _modest_ is not in my vocabulary.”

“I hope not,” he replied. “It’d make you less than Cordelia Chase. And I couldn’t stand for that.”

There had been many times in her life when she’d found herself the subject of a compliment. Many, many times. Ever since grade school, she had been accosted by male admirers and those wanting to be male admirers. She had heard absolutely every line in the book and then some. But never had anyone made her feel the way Zack made her feel. Just by this.

Still, she couldn’t let him know that. Rule #347 in the Guidebook To Men And Dating By Cordelia Chase—feelings were for the weak and should be avoided unless you know he’s good and whipped. After all, pride was a precious thing. She didn’t want hers wounded.

Her heart was tender as well. Despite whatever she had told Gunn earlier, she was wrestling with the temptation to beg Zack to stay after everything was over. Saying goodbye was not one of her strong suits, especially when she was so attached. More attached than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “You’re just looking to get some tonight. I won’t fall for that, buddy.”

“Pity,” he replied with a rakish grin.

They shared a long look, then simultaneously looked back to the porch, where Buffy remained.

It was unfair that they had gotten this far only to fall short of the finish line. Cordelia sighed heavily. Spike had sacrificed so much for her. It was only right that she try to even the odds a little. Only a little.

“Hey,” she said. “Zack, could you go heat up some blood? Oh, and sprinkle some Weetabix in and mix it up. Spike’s insisted we keep a handy supply since you two became the resident attendants.”

Wright nodded but arched an eyebrow. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing much,” Cordelia replied. “Just a peace offering.”

*~*~*

 

“You look sad.”

The intrusion was so soft, so timid that Spike nearly felt his heart turn over. He had been aware of the scent for several minutes but had made no move to acknowledge it. He didn’t have much in him at the moment. Hadn’t since she’d torn herself from his side and walked out of the bedroom without a word. He didn’t even remember going back to the chair by the bed. It just seemed he’d blinked and here he’d been, staring at the place where her body had been for hours. Not thinking—not really. And at the same time thinking too bloody much.

There was such emptiness where there had once been life. In all his years, with all his experience, Spike had never truly felt dead. Not until tonight. Not until the ghostly horror settled had over the Slayer’s face, entered her eyes. Not until the moment where she’d _known_ in every sense of the word.

He didn’t particularly want company, but Rosalie’s presence wasn’t unwelcome. Actually, it was a bit freeing. It kept his mind occupied from the less friendly truth without forcing him to interact with the people downstairs.

“I’m fine, bite-size,” he replied. “Just worried.”

“About your lady friend?”

Despite the circumstances, a small smile tickled his lips. “Yeah,” he replied. “About my lady friend.”

“She’s afraid.”

At that, Spike looked at her with mounting concern. “You saw that?”

The girl offered a frighteningly adult smile. “Didn’t have to.”

“Oh, it’s obvious then?” He sighed heavily. “That’s comforting.”

“She’s downstairs with Dad.”

“Yeah.”

“You should go down, too. She wants you there.”

A mockery of a grin twisted his lips. “Lemme guess,” he drawled. “That’s obvious, too?”

“Yes,” Rosalie replied. The certainty in her voice was almost made him believe it. Almost.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Soft. Companionable.

“She loves you, you know.”

Spike blinked, his chest tightening. “She what?”

“She loves you. It was her last thought before she died. About how she loves you and she wished she had a chance to tell you.” Rosalie offered a smile and neared. “I saw that. Before I told you… Before I told you and Dad what was going to happen. I saw what she was thinking. She was thinking that she loved you and that she was sorry—”

“Stop.” He barked the word rather than spoke it, his body charging with sudden energy that propelled him out of his seat. Stupid girl didn’t know what she was saying. What she was doing.

Even if she was telling the truth, what did that prove? Which Buffy was it that loved him, exactly? The one Angelus had tortured to the point of madness? The one who had stared at the empty mirror in horror? Or his Buffy—the one he loved. The one he feared he’d never see again?

“She’s just afraid,” the girl continued knowingly.

“Shut your gob.”

“You’re afraid too, aren’t you?”

Spike paused once more, his anger cut off at the legs. _Bloody hell._ It was such a simple thing to say. Simple and awful and true. What he felt now was more than fear. He’d never experienced anything like it and wasn’t too keen on staying. And not too long ago, he might have snapped the brat’s neck for seeing him like this. For having the stones to tell him the thing he didn’t want others to know. Spike hadn’t gone out of his way to off kiddies, but he hadn’t exactly shied from it, either. In another life, Rosalie would be a memory by now.

It was bizarre, having memories that he knew were real but couldn’t fully recall. Life before loving Buffy, before knowing this bloody conscience, before everything that tormented his nonsoul—the concept was so entirely out there that he at times had trouble believing that it was him at all. The vampire documented in history was violent, carefree, not the best thinker, and ruthless. He had rarely shown mercy to anyone and had usually hated himself for it. He had sought out slayers because they were the only beings as strong as he, and there was nothing Spike loved more than a fight with real stakes. A fight he went into knowing it might be his last and making it to the other side anyway.

And here he was. Sitting in an empty room with people he considered friends, his eyes dry and red from crying. He couldn’t hold anything for fear of shaking it until it fell. He couldn’t look Rosalie in the eye. He couldn’t conceive that anything she said was true. That Buffy loved him. That Buffy _had_ loved him. Any version of her.

Well, if she had loved him, that was gone now. He’d seen it in her eyes as they had met his in the loo, haunted by what she hadn’t seen, haunted by something that was supposed to be there but wasn’t. She hated him. There was no doubting that. Spike knew hatred. And while hatred had never assumed the form it had in her eyes, it had been too dark to be anything but.

“Yes,” he replied at last. “I’m afraid.”

Speaking the words was treason to himself and his kind, but in a strange way, it felt good. It felt damn good.

“Whenever I’m afraid or sad, Dad plays Barbies with me to cheer me up.”

Spike blinked. That he had not been expecting. Suddenly, his mind was filled with the visage of Wright sitting next to a poncy pink dream house, brushing annoyingly blonde hair and talking to his daughter’s play pals. The picture was so unexpected, so random, so fucking hilarious that he didn’t realize he had lost control until his long dead lungs made an attempt to take a deep breath before he dissolved into laughter again.

Rosalie was smiling as though she knew what she had done—which, in all fairness—she probably did. “He has his Skipper and Nikki is Teresa, only she changes the name to something like Rachel, I think. But Dad can’t all the time. Sometimes he’s away trying to hunt down some demon or find the lady that murdered my mom.”

Spike regained control of himself, mirth fading. “Do you remember your mum?”

There was a short pause.  “Sometimes,” she said. “Sometimes I see her…but I think it’s in my mind. That it’s not real.” A trembling sigh shook her small body. “I know that I knew her once. I told Dad what was happening to her.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah.”

“Like you told me about Buffy?”

“I tried. I tried so hard to see her.” Rosalie was frowning now, her young-old eyes wide with remorse. “I was up in my room for a long time trying to see her. I wanted to help you. I wanted to help…”

He forced a small smile he didn’t feel. The kind he saw others exchange to help feel better. It felt odd and twisted on his lips, but he kept it all the same. “You helped, bite-size,” he said. “You brought me to your old man, right?”

Who had made the executive decision to pour vamp blood down the Slayer’s throat. But he’d also helped Spike get into Wolfram and Hart. Get to Buffy at all, and for that, he supposed he couldn’t be anything but grateful.

“I don’t remember my mom, but I remember what it did to Dad.” Rosalie’s eyes fogged. “He’s never been the same. I remember him happy. I do. I really, really do. And I know that was because of Mom. But I can’t see her.”

“That happens. You were just a little tyke, after all.”

“I want to remember her.”

“’Course you do.” He couldn’t help himself. He might be turning into a first class git, but what the fuck did he have left to protect? Spike leaned forward and tucked golden locks of hair behind her ear. “It’s natural. And who knows? Maybe you will someday.”

There was a meek edge to her voice. “You think so?”

“’Course. Tell you what: if those Powers haven’t given you a break in a few years, you come look me up in SunnyD…or wherever I happen to be. I know a few blokes with a bloody lot of power.” He offered a heartfelt smile. “Got someone who could help you out.”

Rosalie read into his eyes with a grin. It was slow coming, but there nonetheless. It was all he needed. “Thanks.” She hesitated. “I’m glad… I’m glad that Dad did what he did. You were hurting. I felt you hurting. He tried to fix it.”

At that, Spike froze.

“He didn’t want you to feel what he felt when he lost Mom,” she continued. “He did it to help you.”

“I know he did.”

“You should tell him it’s okay.”

“Can’t. Won’t lie to the wanker.” He paused. “But maybe it will be. Someday.”

Rosalie nodded, clearly not entirely satisfied but also knowing not to push it. And that was that. She bid her farewell, not before noting again that he should go down to Buffy because the Slayer loved him. Because the Slayer loved him and needed him now more than ever before.

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to and he feared it all the same. He still didn’t know which Buffy could love him. If he’d be strong enough to say no if it wasn’t the Buffy he loved, or if there even was such a creature.

And he didn’t want to hope now only to find out later that the Buffy he loved _was_ the one who hated him now. Or worse, that she was well and truly gone. He couldn’t stand that.

So he waited.


	38. Forgiveness

“Hey, girlie.” Cordelia parked her ass in the vacant seat next to Buffy and all but shoved a mug of blood into her hands. “We gotta talk.”

Buffy, whose mind had taken her down a rabbit hole of what-ifs, was thankful for the interruption, even if it came with blood. Blood which smelled way too good to her slayer nose. She remembered this nightmare, but even then, she’d never craved blood in her dreams. And even the few that had featured her getting cozy with a jugular or two, the dream version of herself had not been a willing participant. After all, blood was gross. Drinking it was downright sick.

Blood was what her body craved. Because her body had changed. She was a vampire.

A vampire.

“Hey,” Cordelia said after a moment, “it’s okay. Really. I’ve seen Angel do it about a thousand and a half times. Not to mention, Spike’s been a sort of bloodaholic since he got here.”

Buffy pursed her lips, stared at the red temptation a minute later, then raised her gaze to Cordelia. Wondering. Waiting.

“Come on,” Cordelia prodded. “You can’t just wither away. Spike would never forgive me if I didn’t take care of you.”

Those words touched something inside her. With an absent nod, Buffy lifted the cup to her lips. Once the first taste hit her tongue, she lost all reservations. Before she knew it, she was sucking it down to calm the sudden, intense hunger gnawing at her insides. Hunger she hadn’t known could exist. Hunger that replaced anything she’d ever felt on a mediocre human level. As though she had been made for this.

But that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

Buffy jerked her head back with a gasp, aware of the sweet-smelling thickness that lined her mouth. “What did you do to this?”

“Nothing! Well, okay. I added some Weetabix and cinnamon. Spike’s always bitching that if you don’t give it flavor, it’s not nearly reaching the potential for maximum whatever.” Cordelia smiled sympathetically. “He’s too worried about you to look out for you right now. So I’ve decided to assume the responsibility until he gets off his self-loathing ass and confronts you himself.”

At that, Buffy frowned. “Confronts?”

“Yeah. It’s this thing where he thinks you hate him. Want some more? We’re stocked up on all the goods. A, B, O—pos or neg. Whatever you want.” She arched her eyebrows. “Spike’s a lot pickier than Angel when it comes to his blood types. Some mornings, he’s in the mood for a good bag of—”

“Wait. Stop. Please.” Buffy held up a hand. “Back to the part where Spike thinks I hate him?”

“Oh. Right. That. Well, there’s this thing where he made you drink from him to become a vampire. And really, it wasn’t his idea. That was Zack. Zack lost his wife a few years ago to vamps—Darla, actually—and he didn’t want Spike to go through what he went through. They’ve become friends and such. It’s sweet.” Cordelia made a move to get up. “Are you sure you don’t want some more? It’s no big—I’m used to being Ms. Waitress around here.”

Buffy grasped her arm. “He thinks that?”

“He loves you.”

She said it so simply. As though it wasn’t revolutionary. Buffy had known it, of course. She remembered very clearly acknowledging it both to his face and to herself in the minutes before her death. Yet hearing the words spoken aloud by someone who wasn’t her gave her such blissful liberation. It filled her insides with warmth that she had feared lost to her forever.

“He loves me,” she repeated, eyes flooding with tears. “He does? Really?”

Cordelia snickered and settled next to her once more. “Don’t tell me you doubted it.”

Buffy shook her head. “I didn’t know. How could I know? He came for me when he shouldn’t have. When he had no reason to. He made the hurt go away. He told me things that should’ve been impossible. He made me feel good when it wasn’t possible. I think I wanted…” A powerfully overwhelming breath seized command of her—a breath that hurt her chest. She twisted and grasped Cordelia by the wrist. “He loves me?”

“More than life itself, honey. Well…he’s a vampire so I don’t know if that terribly overused cliché works in that context, but we’ll just say it does, how ‘bout it?” Cordelia smiled. “Yes, he does. Very much. So you should march your booty up those stairs and tell him that you don’t hate him.”

At that, Buffy felt her face fall.

“He made me a vampire.”

Cordelia threw her head back with a long moan. “Yeah, he did. He really did. You hate him for it?”

“No.”

“But you don’t forgive him for it?”

“He…” Buffy trailed off helplessly. “I’m a vampire, Cordy.”

“Yep. Noticed. Lots of people are vamps. They kinda crowd the town.”

Buffy looked down, her gaze falling on her hands. “He made me into what I hate.”

“Well, technically, no, he didn’t. Well, I guess his blood did but from what Zack tells me, that was _all_ Zack.”

“How?”

“What?”

“How did…someone _force_ Spike to do this to me?”

“I hear there was a gun involved.”

Buffy arched an eyebrow. “A gun. Seriously? You do remember how to kill vamps, don’t you?”

“Honey, I have every disaster scenario possible locked up in the old canoodle.” Cordelia tapped the side of her head. “Yeah, guns don’t kill, but they do sting like a bitch. Zack says he put two bullets into Spike to get him on the ground—in the heart region, you know—and by the time Spike came around, you were already on your way to Vampsville.”

Buffy felt her jaw unhinge. “Are you serious?”

“Well, that’s what he tells me at least.”

“Who is this guy?”

“A friend.”

“That’s what you call a friend?”

“That’s what I call a very good intentioned guy who lost someone he loved in the way Spike almost lost you.” Cordelia raised her hands. “Zack sees things differently than other people. He saw a way to save you. He knew you’d keep your soul because being a slayer is your permission slip to skip evil, so in his eyes, he wasn’t doing anything but changing your diet a little. There’s life and there’s death and one sucks and one doesn’t. Not saying he was right, but if he was wrong, he was wrong for the right reasons.”

Buffy stared at her for a long moment, doing her best to absorb the sudden explosion of information that had been dropped on her mind. “Spike didn’t want to turn me?”

“Way I heard it, no. He was mega pissed. But the other option was to kill you before you rose, and he wouldn’t do that, either.” Cordelia narrowed her eyes. “And that’s all I know. You want the rest, you get it from him.”

Buffy pressed her lips together.

“Oh, come on. Seriously? I know you don’t hate him.”

“You’re right,” she replied softly. “I don’t. I can’t hate him. I can’t. I promised him. I…” Her eyes suddenly stung and she felt her throat tighten. And then the mass of awful she’d been trying to keep at bay pushed against her walls and demanded freedom, and when she started talking, she found she couldn’t stop. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Cordy,” she sobbed. “These past few…however long I was… It felt like forever. It felt like a nightmare. A nightmare. And I was just waiting to wake up. I was waiting for my world to come back. None of it was real. It couldn’t be. While I was there. Spike came and he made it real. I thought… I had dreamed of him. Slayer dreams. But the dreams didn’t make sense and I thought I was losing my mind. So when he finally came, I thought he was there to hurt me. But he didn’t because the dreams were real. He came and gave me…more than anyone has ever. And I loved him. For that. For everything. For being him. For being someone I had never seen before while…I loved him so much.”

Cordelia nodded stiffly. “Do you still love him?”

“I think so. Maybe? I don’t know how or… It doesn’t seem real. I still feel like it’s not real.”

“It is.”

“And when I realize that, when it finally hits home that this is the way things are…will I still love him?” Buffy shook her head. “I hope so. God, I hope so. I promised him things would never go back to the way they were. And they can’t now. Even if I wanted them to…because he made me into what he is. He made me a vampire.”

“Again, _Zack_ made you a vampire. Spike has done nothing but resent him for it since it was done.” Cordelia patted on the shoulder. “I can’t imagine what you went through, Buff. And frankly, I don’t want to. Angel’s a good friend of mine, and even though he and Angelus are… I just don’t wanna think about it. But Spike… What Spike went through to get you back made believers of all of us.”

“I love him and that scares me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s him. Because it’s me. Because the last time I really loved someone, he broke me. Twice. I tried to love someone else and that failed miserably because I’m no good at loving. I gave Angel everything I had. I loved with _all_ of me, and it nearly killed me. Then he came back and I let myself love him again even though I knew it was stupid and he _still_ walked away.” Buffy wiped at her tears, hating herself. Hating Angel more, but herself all the same. “He made me afraid to love because love is pain and the pain never stops. Hell, the love thing scares me more than the vampire thing. I guess I half expected something like this to happen. I thought Angel would kill me and he did. I didn’t know if he’d turn me or not, but I thought about it. I never thought that I would find love. And I never thought it’d be Spike.”

“Why?”

Buffy tossed her a narrowed look. “Cordy, you do remember Spike, right?”

“Yeah. I remember the jerk who tried to kill us on Parent Teacher night and a hundred other times. I remember the guy who came here last year and tortured the living snot out of Angel.” She paused. “Or unliving snot, I guess.”

“Gross.”

“But that Spike’s not the Spike who showed up. I didn’t think vamps could change, but it was all kinds of obvious the second he got here. Loving you changed him.”

“And if he changes back?”

Cordelia made a face. “Then you kill him, I guess. But I don’t see that happening. He’s got no soul to lose, for one thing. And a second thing… Now, don’t get me wrong. When he’s not tearing throats out, Angel’s one of my favorite guys in the world. But he’s also kind of a self-righteous dipshit.”

Buffy blinked. “Huh?”

“The whole _leaving you for your own good_ mumbo jumbo. I never got that. Like you were ever going to have a chance at normal anyway. Might as well make the most of the time you had while you had it.” Cordelia shrugged. “He thinks he knows what’s best for everyone and when the going gets rough, he cuts himself off from his friends. Spike, on the other hand…I dunno, Buff. He wants you in a big ole way, sure, but… Look at that nutjob that is Drusilla. He stayed with her for a freaking long time. He’s not a guy who has commitment issues. When he loves, it’s an all or nothing kinda thing.” She paused, smiled. “Actually, now that I think about it, it reminds me of you.”

The comment made her want to smile, but she killed the urge before she could give in. Cordelia gave a good pep talk, for sure. The questions still remained, though. The questions and the uncertainty and the fear. The fear, truly, above everything else. “I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore. Everything that I did know is coming apart. And nothing can make it right again.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?”

“Maybe not the version of right that you’re used to. But you and Spike…you can make a different kind of right.”

Buffy could not spare herself a small grin. “You sure seem to be pushing this ‘me and Spike’ thing.”

Cordelia shrugged. “I just don’t see where the conflict comes in. You have to get used to the vamp thing, right? You love him, he loves you. Where’s the problem?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How is it complicated?”

“It just is. Love just complicates things. I haven’t…I’ve never felt this way before. Ever. And I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if it’s gratitude or love. It doesn’t feel like gratitude. It feels…”

And there it was. The thing she was afraid of approaching but knew she had to confront. The creature under all the fear that was desperate for escape. The thing she knew she couldn’t contain.

“How does it feel?” Cordelia pushed gently.

Buffy blinked, her eyes stinging again. “Wonderful. And awful. And wonderful all over again. Like…like nothing I…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I thought. How I thought things might change. But I do remember what I felt when he was with me before. When he came for me. And it hasn’t changed. I feel different. Really different—on levels that go way beyond the not being alive in the most technical sense thing. That’s something I have yet to grasp. One thing at a time. I just…”

“The vampire thing?”

“One thing at a time,” she reiterated with confidence. “And I have a habit of dealing with the big thing first. And you’re right, what happened wasn’t his fault. The Spike that…the Spike that came to help me…to save me…”

“He’s the same Spike you knew from before,” Cordelia said. “Trust me. He might seem different, but worrying yourself into a second death does that to you. He showed up here the day after you were taken. Or the next morning or something like that. Evidently, he came right after he received word that you were gone and cleared the entire plan to Giles and all the others before he left.”

A sharp pang struck Buffy’s chest. “Giles…”

“They’re in England now.”

“I know. I…I just…” She paused, then shook her head again. “I can’t think about that now. My multi-tasking skills seem to have been dulled. One thing at a time.”

“That’s understandable,” Cordelia assured her.

Buffy nodded, thinking maybe she’d believe it herself if she did it enough. “Right. Now…what happened?”

“With what?”

“After Spike got here. What’d he do?”

Cordelia grinned and made no move to hide it. “Well, I threatened to stake him.”

Buffy cracked a nostalgic smile.

“Lindsey had sent us a warning about Angel being all evil and whatnot, so we had a friend of ours strengthen the vamp no-invite policy. Spike got here and stood outside screaming his head off until we agreed to invite him in on the condition that the story was okayed by Giles.”

“That must’ve driven him crazy,” she remarked.

Cordelia laughed. “You have no idea. But we worked together well, for what it was worth. It took him a little while to trust us and vice versa, but it’s strange how close we’ve become. I’m not gonna lie to you, sister. We’re probably going to put up a fight to keep him here.”

“You’ve grown that attached to him?”

She nodded. “We all have. He’s a part of the gang, whether he wants to admit it or not. I almost can’t remember him not being here, really. He and Zack have gotten really close. It’s kinda cute watching him with his friends.”

Buffy was smiling in full now. She couldn’t help it. “I’ve never seen him with friends. Really…I guess I never…”

“It’s cute,” Cordelia repeated. “They met after Lorne directed him to someone who could help him get you back. He had to sing at Caritas—it’s this demon bar—in order to be read and get that far, and—”

“Spike sang?” Buffy blinked. She had a distant memory of him telling her the same, but her mind was so jumbled she wasn’t sure if the conversation had actually happened or not. The idea of Spike singing was…well, sexy as hell.

“Hell yeah, he did,” Cordelia replied. “And man oh man, does that boy have a gorgeous voice. I swear, there wasn’t—”

“He sang?”

“Yep.”

“In front of people?”

Cordelia nodded, smiling at her bewilderment.

“He sang for me?”

“Honey, you have to move passed this. Yes, he sang for you. _Twice,_ actually. First time—get this—‘Tiny Dancer’.”

“No.”

“Oh yeah. Brought the freaking house down. So much so that Lorne—guy who owns Caritas—made him do another song because he couldn’t get a read. Lorne’s an empath demon that can read you when you sing. Give you your future or destiny or whatever.” She paused. “So Spike had to do another song. I didn’t know it, but Wes about creamed his pants. One of his favorite bands from a thousand years ago. Anyhoo, point is, Spike did that for you. Because he had to know that you were all right. ‘Course, he didn’t get any straight answers. Lorne could only give him his future, not yours. But it did lead him to Zack, and that was that.”

Buffy smiled and managed to not snarl at the mention of the man who had apparently forced Spike to turn her. She considered this progress. “You like him, don’t you? Zack, or whoever.”

“In ways that are very unchristian,” Cordelia agreed with a devious smile. “But, gotta be honest, I’ve never been a Christian person. Too much baggage. I’ll stick with demons.”

Buffy wet her lips, nodding. “You’re so different from what I remember.”

“I am like this.” Cordy shrugged. “Never imagined it myself, but stuff happens.” She paused, then gave Buffy the side-eye. “So…why’s it complicated?”

And they had circled back. Not that Buffy hadn’t known they would, but it made her stiffen all the same. “Because if this is it. If what I feel is real…”

“Do you think it’s real?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation. Despite her reservations, she believed it was real. And in many ways, that was all that mattered.

“Then—”

“It’s the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me.” Buffy expelled a deep breath. “It’s something that’s…” Her eyes were filling with tears again. “It just terrifies me. I want it but I’m scared of it, too.”

“Scared of what?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It’s just too much, Cordy. Too much, too fast.”

“Was it too fast before you were vamped?”

“I didn’t think so. It didn’t feel like it there. I guess it was easier when I was chained up. Not that I would ever, ever go back.” A shudder shimmied down her spine. “But when it wasn’t real yet, I could let myself love him and be loved without being afraid.” She wet her lips. “I’m scared… I think I’m scared of being hurt. Again. If he drops me—”

“Wait. Whoa. Hold the phone.” Cordelia brought her hands up. “How can you think that you’re not forever to him? Do you have any idea what he went through to get you out? He’s been tearing himself apart. When he hasn’t been with you, he’s been trying to get back to you. Zack told me he broke down sobbing when he saw you. I don’t even think _sobbing’s_ a strong enough word. What Zack told me was…it broke my heart. And he stayed with you all night. I couldn’t get him to come downstairs for anything.” She shook her head, almost angry. “I’d give anything to have someone feel for me what he feels for you. Only I wouldn’t be down here moping that the man who worships you is going to hurt you when he’s upstairs, hurting more than…well, hurting a lot. I’d be up there with him. Hell, I’d be in sweaty, naked goodness. I would not be down here thinking about how loving the one person who would never hurt me might hurt me. That’s stupid, Buffy. You’re just setting up barriers for yourself to keep you from being happy. Well, guess what. You don’t have any curse. You don’t have anything holding you back. You have a gorgeous vampire upstairs that’s hurting because he thinks that you hate him. Now, get off your undead booty and march your ass up to him and—”

Whatever else Cordelia was going to say, Buffy didn’t know. She didn’t care. The words were the balm she needed. And before her brain could catch up with the rest of her, she was on her feet and in the hotel, climbing the stairs, wending her way through the halls and following her new smelling superpowers to get her where she needed to be.

She was hurting now because she feared hurting later. Being in pain to avoid pain didn’t make any sense. Especially because she knew—she _knew—_ that if she took a chance with Spike, it would be forever for him. And maybe that was it—maybe she feared not loving him the way she wanted to. But even then, the risk was worth it.

Everything was worth it.

She had nothing to lose.

The sight that greeted her when she summoned the courage to approach the room she’d abandoned earlier nearly killed her all over again.

Spike was on his knees staring at the abandoned bed. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing, and that bothered her. For all intents and purposes, he might as well have been a statue.

This was not the Spike she knew. The Spike who greeted steep, if not impossible odds with a smirk. The Spike whose strength had always seemed more than a vampire’s, maybe because he fought with everything he was, nothing held back. Even if he staring certain death in the face, he wouldn’t blink until either he was dust or had bluffed his way to safety. And his humor never failed, no matter the odds.

That was something she had always respected.

She didn’t like seeing him defeated.

Hurt.

Swallowing hard, Buffy leaned to support her weight against the doorframe. “Spike?”

The air could not have been heavier. Silence stretched her. Taunted and teased her. He didn’t move.

She drew in a breath, waited for a minute, then tried again.

“Spike?”

Nothing.

That was it, then. It was all or nothing. She wouldn’t let him get away that simply. With a deep breath, she shook her head and set forward. After days of being touched, she needed to do the touching. Needed to feel him as he’d felt her. Maybe it was her turn to do the caring.

She ran her fingers over his shoulder, then squeezed.

And that seemed to do it. Jerk him out of whatever mental cage he’d placed himself in.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Buffy bit her lip, fighting a new flood of tears. It was too much, the pain in his voice, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she dragged her hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, where she found muscles tight with tension and began to rub. She sensed the ripple of pleasure catch him, heard his sharp intake of breath. She also felt his disbelief.

God, she loved touching him. She bet she would love tasting him too.

Buffy inhaled, then knelt forward and brushed a kiss over the nape of his neck. The tension in his body tightened rather than released, and she realized with a start that he was every bit as afraid of her as she was of him.

“Spike,” she murmured against his skin.

At that, she heard him inhale deeply. “Fuck,” he murmured, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I never meant to. I never—”

“Spike—”

“—wanted this for you. I was too late,”

“Spike.” She whispered another kiss across his skin. “Look at me. Please.”

For a moment, he was still—so still she wondered if he’d heard her. But then he rose to his feet and turned to face her at last.

He was trembling. He was trembling and she had done that to him.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Please what, baby?”

That was a good question.

“Do I scare you?” she heard herself asking.

“Yes.”

Buffy pressed her lips together. “You’ve never been afraid of me. Even when I wanted you to be.”

“Not true, pet. Ever since I…” He looked down. “You know I love you. Figured it back there. And that’s bloody terrified me. From the moment I realized it to now. You scare the stuffing outta me.”

Her mouth quirked. “That makes sense.”

“And now I’ve made you what you hate.” Pain swarmed behind his eyes. “Look at what I’ve done.”

Buffy took a step forward, her chest constricting with the odd desire to breathe against the need. She hesitated, then slowly ran her hands up his arms, until they were linked behind his neck.

He was shaking hard.

“I don’t hate you,” she whispered. “I could never, ever hate you. Not now.”

He choked a sob. “But I turned you into something you hate! I made you—”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

Spike blinked at her in disbelief, and she decided to go for broke.

“I don’t know about anything, Spike. I’m not all right. I’m about as far from all right as anyone could be right now. I haven’t dealt with the vampire thing yet…” She paused when she felt him tense beneath her hands. “I don’t know how to deal with it. It’s too big. But this…with you… I dunno, it feels bigger. Maybe that’s the shock talking. I don’t know. My head has been a very loud place today.”

Spike looked away.

“Once it quieted, though, the thing that seemed most important was talking with you. Telling you it’s not your fault.”

He swallowed. “You have no idea how much I wanna believe that.”

“You should,” she whispered. “It’s true.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Neither do I. I’ve already given up trying to understand.” She tugged him closer, then hummed when his arms encircled her. _Yes,_ she needed this. Needed this even more than she’d thought. “I’m so…everything’s gone wrong. Everything. And I’m not okay. I’m not okay.” She buried her head against his shoulder, and then her will broke and the sobs she’d been swallowing finally tore through her in endless waves. “I’m not okay. Not okay.”

“Shh,” he murmured. “You just let it out. Let it out. God, I’m so sorry I did this to you. So—”

She pulled back and practically attacked his lips with hers. He froze for a moment, but when her tongue pushed into his mouth, he dissolved with a hard moan and gripped her hard as he devoured her. The pent up tension, the longing, the worry, the sadness—she tasted all of it. Needing more than he could give. Needing everything and nothing at all.

With a gasping breath, she pulled back. “Stay.”

“What?”

“Stay with me tonight. Please. I don’t leave me alone. Could you just…” She lowered her eyes to the floor. “Stay with me.”

It was an amazing thing, watching boundless love deluge his eyes.

“Are you sure?” His forehead nudged hers. “I don’t wanna…”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I might not be okay…but without you…I don’t wanna think of where I’d be.” She forced a weak smile. “Right now, Spike…you’re my line of reason. Please stay with me tonight.”

The light shining through his eyes was everything she would ever need. And when he nodded, there was nothing else to reach for. Nothing else to understand. He merely stepped backward, his hand around hers, and gathered her in his arms as she settled against him.

The place where she felt truly safe.


	39. Devil in the Belfry

She was warm, and she shouldn’t be, because the dead weren’t warm. Yet as consciousness fought through the fog of sleep—as she remembered where she was, who she was, and what had happened—the warmth persisted.

But it wasn’t hers. Not really. It belonged to both of them.

Buffy turned over to face Spike, and she smiled at what she saw. For the first time since Sunnydale, he looked completely relaxed. Not to mention dead to the world.

Good. If anyone deserved a good night’s sleep…

Buffy’s smile faded. There was still so much to think about. She hadn’t yet allowed her mind to fully embrace what had happened to her. Hell, she was terrified. About what was yet to come, what it meant, and the fact that even now she could feel the strain of sunlight against the closed blinds in ways she never had before. Likewise, the knowledge that she had to drink blood to live had yet to really sink in.

And the big one. Immortality. She was here forever. She was bound to the world until the world finally ended. Until she knew the dust that had clinched the fate of so many before her.

She was the hunted. She was a vampire. She was a demon.

It was too much to wrestle with now.

And yet, the idea of love was so much more frightening, maybe because it gave her more to lose. The steps she was taking now would lead her into alien territory. Not only with love she felt now, but how it compared to what had come before. While she knew she’d loved Angel, time had shaped it into something else. Something almost juvenile, and likewise tainted by the pain of losing him. First to Angelus, then to Acathla, and finally to himself. He’d taught her that love was agony, even when it wasn’t.

Spike, however, had shown her love despite agony. He’d risked everything to get to her and to get her out, and the time they’d had in between had been beautiful too. He had given her hope when no other could. He had given her everything. _Everything._

Maybe loving him had been a long time coming and that was why it seemed so simple. Even when he’d annoyed the crap out of her, he’d made her life interesting. He was one of the few vampires she believed could kill her in a fair fight and that had always been exciting as hell. Then last year when she’d gotten to know him more… Well, that had hurt too, because it had been nothing but a living demonstration of how monstrous Angelus truly was.

Spike had turned to her when he’d needed help. And he had helped—he’d also, sure, tried to sell them to Adam, but even that didn’t really register on her evil-o-meter. He’d seen a way to get back what had been taken from him and he’d seized it. But he’d also saved their lives at the end of it with some lame excuse about them needing a reason not to stake him.

Couldn’t well stake him if they were dead.

And sure, he’d probably known that they could kick that particular demon’s ass, but that didn’t mean much in the end. Spike had wanted to stay in Sunnydale, had wanted to be near _her_ , well after the Initiative had become a memory.

Over the weeks leading up to Buffy’s abduction, he had tried. Everything had changed…

Well, after he’d kidnapped that Initiative doctor.

The same night she’d had that weird-ass dream where a mission to stake Spike had resulted in making out with him instead. At the time, she’d chalked it up to having had Spike between her legs, his fangs at her throat, and decided that if she was horny enough to turn a near-death experience into masturbatory material, then she likely ought to buy that vibrator Anya had recommended to deal with Riley’s declining sexual performance.

Instead, maybe that dream had been prophetic, like all the ones she’d had after waking up at Wolfram and Hart.

And then when she’d realized he wasn’t a figment of her imagination, she’d understood something else. Spike was a cocky, rude, arrogant jerk at times, but he was also incredibly loyal. He felt deeply. Hell, he loved unconditionally. Even when it was against his nature.

He loved the way she did. He fought the way she did. He was, in every sense of the word, her equal.

Buffy grinned at that and studied her sleeping vampire. He wore only wearing jeans, which her eyes definitely appreciated because damn, the boy was a work of beauty. From his fingernails that were coated in chipped black polish to his ruffled peroxide locks to the scar over his eyebrow. His imperfection made him perfect.

One hand was curled around hers. It nearly made her flush to consider how well those hands knew her now. So little and so much had passed between them. He had given her comfort with no want for himself. He had given her so much.

And now, she wanted to give to him, too.

Carefully, she extracted herself from his arms and dropped a kiss against his chest before running her hand across his abdomen. The feel of his skin under her fingers sent cool shivers across her body.

And she wanted more.

She waited a beat, then began to move lower, dropping soft, open-mouthed kisses across his stomach. When her lips grazed the spot just below his bellybutton, Spike rumbled a soft whimper, shifted slightly, but didn’t open his eyes.

But his body was definitely awake now, even if he wasn’t. The bulge at the crotch of his jeans was pronounced and—woefully limited as her experience with the male anatomy might be—seemed large. Riley, like the rest of him, had been right around average. And nervous as she’d been, she barely remembered anything about her night with Parker. The morning after notwithstanding.

And Angel…

A hard shudder ran through her body. No. _No._ She was not going to let Angel—any part of Angel—into this space.

She wouldn’t let him or what he’d done ruin this. This thing she desperately wanted.

Buffy dragged her gaze up Spike’s body again, reminding herself where she was.

More importantly, where she _wasn’t._

Then she palmed his erection and watched as he shifted again, this time licking his lips. She waited to see if he’d open his eyes, and when he didn’t, began stroking him through his jeans. Still nothing. Apparently, her vampire slept like the dead.

Which was a shame, because there was so much she wanted to do with him.

Buffy wet her lips and considered. Even if he did wake up, she was a bit overdressed for what she had in mind. And considering she was wearing clothes that didn’t belong to her, she didn’t think it wise to put herself in a position where they might be ripped off her—not that Spike was a clothes-ripper, but he totally seemed like he might be.

That thought sent a happy shiver down her spine. Buffy grinned and sat up, then drew her shirt over her head and kicked off her pants. She paused then and looked down. The last time she’d studied her body, she’d found each inch of skin layered with dirt or blood. Large cuts had made up the flesh of her belly, and she remembered fully the blade Angelus had stuck in her side before he’d ripped her throat open. There had been bite marks on her breasts and strips of flesh missing from her legs. And, of course, the space between her thighs had been of particular interest to Angelus, to the point of thinking about it made it hurt.

Now nothing hurt. There was still a sizeable scar at her side, but it looked months old rather than hours. The indentation of Angelus’s bites at her breast had also started to fade, the flesh he’d ripped out there on the way to healing completely. And though her body remembered the pain of his invasion, she was pleased—no, make that goddamned ecstatic—to feel only…

Well, there had been arousal a moment ago. Before she’d started thinking about Angelus.

It was weird, right? She shouldn’t be so ready for sex after what had happened to her.

Yet looking at Spike, remembering how his mouth felt on her…yeah, she was ready for sex.

It was scary. It was so scary. But it was also real. And she didn’t want to waste time wondering if it was too soon to be horny when she _knew_ she was. She figured, after what she’d been through, she’d earned the right to not overthink everything.

She’d earned the right to enjoy herself.

Buffy gave her head a shake and returned her attention to Spike, who hadn’t so much as twitched. His erection hadn’t gone away, though, and her fingers were eager to explore it.

Splitting her attention between his face and his crotch, she deftly popped open the first button of his fly, then the next, and the next, and then his cock was free, straining toward her and effectively banishing the last of those thoughts she didn’t want to waste time thinking.

She wanted to taste and touch and feel.

She also wanted him more naked than he was right now. And by the time she had his jeans bunched around his ankles—and he still hadn’t stirred—she began to wonder if he was faking it. That seemed like something he’d do.

Then again…

Buffy turned her eyes upward once more as she settled beside him, then dragged her tongue from the head of his penis to the base. Spike jerked and gave a small moan, but he didn’t open his eyes, which convinced her that he had to be the world’s heaviest sleeper.

But again, his body was awake. Awake and very responsive. Beads of pre-cum dotted his cockhead, and the rest of him seemed to pulse with anticipation.

So she drew him between her lips and sucked.

Buffy glanced up again. No change. Her hands curled around the base of his erection, tightening as her mouth gained courage. She drew him in deeper, applying subtle pressure, then more when she remembered he was a vampire. _Thank god_ for that. No more careful sex. No more worrying about squeezing too hard or gripping too tight or any of the thousands of little fears that had dogged her relationship with Riley. She dipped a hand to cup his balls, large and soft against her palm. And warm. He was warm here. Not human-warm, but warm enough.

And when he awoke, it was with a hard gasp that shot straight to her clit.

“Wha… _oh fuck._ ” Spike blinked, attempted to pull himself up, but threw in the towel almost immediately. The second their eyes connected, he choked something between a moan and a sob, then collapsed back.

“Oh god,” he moaned. “My god. Buffy…”

“Mm?” She drew her tongue around his cockhead once, twice, then sucked him deep into her mouth again.

Spike whimpered, thrusting his lips a bit. She didn’t know if he meant to or not—either way, it was hot as hell.

“Fuck… _fuck_ me…”

Buffy couldn’t help it; she snorted. When he arched an eyebrow at her, she did it again, then drew back until his dick was poised at the seam of her lips. “Pretty sure that’s what I was doing.”

He nodded. Hard. “Yeah.”

“Nice way to wake up, huh?”

“Oh god…”

“Want more?” She brushed a kiss across his tip and squeezed him at the base.

He thrust up, his cock eager against her lips, his gaze wide and frantic. “Buffy!”

“I’ll take that as a big yes.”

And then something happened that made her heart swell. Spike’s surprise faded, exchanged for a lazy grin. It amazed her how quickly he could change seasons; begging one second and in complete control the next. “Very big, love.”

“There I’ll agree with you. The biggest. But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Little chance of that.”

A groan spilled from his lips as her tongue found a particularly sensitive vein, her right hand still working his shaft, her other massaging his testicles. He was the most responsive man she’d ever been with, and that made her hotter. Made her want to give him more—everything.

Which apparently he was in the market for. Spike speared his fingers through her hair, guiding her back to where he wanted her most. “More.”

“Just tell me what you like.”

“You. _You._ God, you have the most bloody perfect mouth.” He looked at her again, then patted the empty space beside him. “Come here.”

“Can’t give you more if I do that.”

“Didn’t mean your mouth. Fancy that right where it is.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Pig.”

“That might hurt if I didn’t know your favorite soft toy is a pig.”

Buffy arched an eyebrow. “How do you know about Mr. Gordo?”

He shrugged. “I hear things. And yeah, I might be a pig, but I’m a generous pig.” Spike grinned and sat up—successfully this time—and ran his hand down her back until he had her ass cradled against his palm. “No reason I should have all the fun.”

“Sure there is.”

“Then you oughta know that making you come is a lot of bloody fun for me.” He tugged on her, then offered a wider grin when she relented. “And I want you on my tongue. Wanted to taste you forever.”

“You have before.”

He threw her a sharp look, one that shook her to the bone. But he didn’t say anything and she was glad because he didn’t need to. Because she understood. And the next thing she knew, she felt his breath cool against the lips of her sex, his arms curled around her.

This was different. She’d never been adventurous enough to sixty-nine.

Which, now that she was sprawled along him, his cock probing her lips again, seemed silly. Because life couldn’t get much better than having a man you love run his tongue along your pussy while you were having fun making him moan.

Then they were moaning together because there was no way she couldn’t moan when Spike’s lips were around her clit and his cock was in her mouth. She had never been big on the giving head thing, but the way he whimpered and thrust against her, the way her name would occasionally spill from his lips before he sealed his mouth on her pussy again had her reconsidering. None of her previous lovers had been particularly verbose, and she hadn’t realized that dirty talk was something she enjoyed.

So when he’d pull back from her wet flesh to tell her, “Love your mouth. Suck me like that, Buffy. _Oh fuck_ ,” or “Love how wet you are. Taste so sodding good. Come all over my tongue. Bloody drench me,” her response was immediate and intense. The pulls of her mouth became more determined. She bobbed her head up and down his shaft, then drew back enough to close her lips around his cockhead and squeeze.

At that, Spike tore away from her pussy with a hard groan, his fingers digging into her hips. “Slayer…”

She wrapped her hand around the base of his dick and began to pump, her other hand dipping to fondle his balls. He jerked and gasped again, and she decided she’d start eternity off right by trying to get him to do that as much as possible.

“Buffy,” he whimpered. “Please.”

She tongued the tip of his cock once, twice, then welcomed him back into her mouth with a moan of her own. In seconds, she was deep-throating him in earnest, back and forth, working until she felt him rub against the back of her throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Please tell me you plan on swallow—”

And she did. Her throat muscles contracted around his pulsing cock, then she felt him shudder and he was coming with a roar that would definitely bring down the hotel. She seized him by the thighs and held—held tight as he held her, a litany of nonsensical words spilling off his lips.

A thousand years later, it seemed, when Spike’s softening cock slipped from her mouth, Buffy had the thought that she could get used to this. Used to winding him—her endlessly energetic vampire. Used to hearing him pant her name as he lost control.

She could also get very used to him seizing her by the hips and plunging his tongue inside her, searching and nibbling and tasting her as his fingers found her clit. He teased her like that for a second, chuckling against her flesh when she whimpered and wiggled, before dragging his tongue from her opening to her clit and sliding his fingers inside her. Then it was his turn to pull and stroke. The wet section of his mouth around her flesh alone would have done her in alone, but adding the laps his tongue took of her clit and she tumbled over the edge in a brilliant explosion of white.

When Buffy came back to herself, she found she was hanging half off the bed, her hair skirting the floor. But before she could right herself, she felt Spike crawling toward her, dropping kisses up her stomach before he found her breast. She felt his cock against her belly, hard and ready and _yes_ she wanted him inside her, but she also didn’t because she didn’t think she was in a place to enjoy it.

“Could do this all day,” Spike murmured before licking her nipple. “You’re perfect.”

“Spike…”

“Mmm?”

“I don’t think… Ahh…” She frowned and looked up best she could, given the awkward angle. “I don’t think I’m ready…for that.”

The predatory gleam in his eyes blinked away so fast she nearly cried out in dismay. Then he was pulling away from her, which would have prompted her to tears had he not immediately gathered her in his arms.

“None of that,” he said. “Don’t go crying on me.”

“I feel like a tease.”

“Baby, you just let me come down your throat. You’re many things, I’ll grant, but not a bloody tease. At least…” He grinned and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Not because of this.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m not gonna touch you if you don’t wanna be touched.” His jaw hardened. “Never, sweetheart. I never thought you’d…”

But he didn’t say and she didn’t ask him. Instead, she went with him as he righted them on the bed and curled into his side as though she had been made to fit there. His arms tightened around her and he buried his nose in her hair, shuddering.

“Buffy…”

She smiled overtaken by a sudden wave of shyness. “Hey,” she replied, burying her head into his shoulder.

“Hey, yourself.”

She heard the smile in his voice and couldn’t help but match it. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Tryin’ to suss out whether or not I’m dreaming. If I am, be a peach and never wake me.”

“You’re not dreaming.”

“Woke up with your mouth around my prick. Pretty sure that’s a dream.”

“So it was okay?”

He blinked at her, some of the happy goofiness in his face fading. “Was what okay, pet?”

“The…” If she still had a pulse, this was where her cheeks would have started burning. “The blowjob. You liked it?”

He blinked at her in confusion. “Liked it? Liked it, she asks…” Spike tightened his arms around her. “No one’s ever done to me what you do.” He nuzzled her hair. “I’ve never felt anythin’ like that. Fuck, I’m never gonna get enough of you. I never could.”

“You say that…”

“No, love, I know it.” The look he gave her would have melted her panties had she been wearing any. “No matter what happens. I’ll never get enough of this. Of you.

Buffy sat up and took his mouth, pouring everything she couldn’t yet say behind her kiss. The things that scared her and the things that didn’t, and everything in between. Spike moaned and all but sank into her, his tongue sweeping along hers as his lips took her own. He tasted as good as he smelled. Faded cigarettes and liquor, a hint of leather, and yes—something she knew had to be herself. And god, if that didn’t have her reconsidering just how ready she was to have him inside her, she didn’t know what would.

“I don’t know how it happened,” she said softly when they pulled apart. “But I know that it started before this. It started…I don’t know when it started. Maybe it started the first time I saw you.” She grinned when he did, but continued before he could interrupt. “But this is what I want.”

Spike stilled. “What is what you want?”

“This.” Buffy’s eyes leveled with his so that he would understand her. So that he would have no reason to doubt. “You. I want you.”

Awe and disbelief flooded his gaze. That and so much love she thought she might drown. “You want me?”

“Yes.”

“You… Oh, Buffy, I—”

A sharp knock shattered their solitude. Cordelia’s voice followed shortly thereafter. “Hey! You two alive in there?”

Buffy felt Spike grow rigid but clamped a hand on his shoulder before he could retort. “Hardy har har, Cordy!”

“I thought it was cute. Anyway, we got a problem.”

Buffy pressed her brow against Spike’s chest and groaned. Of course, they did.

“What is it?” Spike asked.

“You better come down.”

Another beat passed. “We’ll be right there,” Buffy called.

Spike grasped Buffy’s wrist to hold her to him. “We’re not done here,” he promised. His tone, paired with those words, made her thighs clench.

She wanted to say something profound in return. The most her brain could produce was, “Huh?”

Spike smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. He expressed so much with so little. He gave so much without giving at all. And it was all she needed. “We’re not done here,” he repeated, gaze dropping to her mouth. “We’re not even close to done.”

This time, she found her voice. “You better believe it.”

He kissed her and it was everything. More than everything.

It was home.

*~*~*

When Spike came down the stairs, hand curled around Buffy’s, he found the lobby as packed as it had ever been. Nikki lounged in one of the middle sofas with Rosalie in her lap. Kate Lockley and Lindsey McDonald were by the checkout counter, and neither looked particularly thrilled to be there. Wesley, Wright, and Cordelia were talking quietly near the former Watcher’s office, and Gunn was surveying the weapons display.

“Bugger,” Spike muttered. Buffy turned to him with wide eyes and he nodded at the frosty blonde peeler. “I don’t even know the bint all that well and I know that her bein’ here’s not a good thing.”

“Who is she?”

“Some police officer your ex-honey managed to brass off.”

Buffy’s brows arched appraisingly. “I see. So _why_ is she here?”

Spike nodded at Cordelia, who had spied them and was favoring them with an ear-splitting grin. “Got a feelin’ we’re about to find out.” He shifted his attention to Wright and smirked when he saw the demon hunter was staring at the Slayer, looking both awed and bloody terrified. “But first, there’s someone you need to meet.”

Buffy followed his gaze. “Is that him?”

“The bloke—”

“Who made you turn me?”

Spike swallowed and the smile faded off his face. “Uhh, right. Yeah, love. That’s him.”

She pressed her lips together but gave a nod. “All right. Make with the introductions.”

There was a rustle from behind. “Excuse me,” Kate Lockley said.

Spike tossed a nasty glance over his shoulder. “Hold up,” he growled, tugging Buffy alongside him as he started for the other side of the lobby.

“That wasn’t nice,” she whispered.

He shrugged in response. “What can I say, love? I’m a bad, rude man.”

“Yeah, you are,” she agreed. “But you’re my bad, rude man.”

Spike whipped his head toward hers, his chest tightening. “Completely.”

At that, Buffy grinned. “Then you’re probably not as bad as you want me to think.”

“Oi. Bite your tongue.”

“Pretty sure that’s why I have you around.” She shifted her attention back to Wright, who had all but frozen in place. “Think he’s scared of me?”

“Bloody terrified.” Spike flashed a quick grin. “But he’d never admit it.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m not mad at him, either.” A shudder ran through her. “I don’t know what I am. You’d think I’d be made, but this is…well, very new but still I don’t feel all that different. Maybe it hasn’t hit yet.”

That was his fear as well, but one that didn’t seem as daunting as it had the previous day. It could be that Buffy would revert to form—the form where she hated him and didn’t hesitate to tell him the ways—but he didn’t think so. What had happened with Angelus had changed her more than Wright ever could.

“I’m right here if that happens,” Spike assured her. “If you need—”

“Oh, I’ll need.” She tightened her hand around his. “I might hate being a vampire but that doesn’t mean I’ll hate you.”

Yet some things were hard to let go of. Spike released a long sigh. “You say that—”

“No. You’re the one thing I feel absolutely certain about. Weird as that is.”

He turned to study her, then dropped a kiss on her head. “Whatever I need to do to keep it that way, just tell me.” He would have said more, but they had completed their trek across the room, so he turned to make the introduction. “Buffy, this is Zangy and”—he nodded to Gunn—“that bloke’s Charlie.”

Buffy gave a little half wave. “Buffy Summers, recently undead slayer of the undead.”

“Zack Wright,” the demon hunter said, and seized her hand in a hearty shake that nearly toppled her over. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve heard about you.”

She offered Wright a smile, one that reached her eyes. “It’s great to meet you, Zack.” She shifted her attention to Charlie. “And—”

“Gunn,” he corrected, shooting Spike a hell-freezing glare. “Charles Gunn. Just Gunn, as a matter of fact. Not Charlie.”

“I didn’t think you looked like a Charlie,” she agreed.

“Yeah, well, you might try tellin’ your boyfriend that.”

Spike stiffened at the label on instinct, bracing himself.

“What?” Buffy replied with a laugh. “Don’t tell me you guys have been hanging around each other all this time and you still don’t know how stubborn he is?”

He released a breath and felt Buffy squeeze his hand. She’d noticed.

“Well, you know guys,” Cordelia said, leaning on Wright’s shoulder. “In one ear and out the other. It’s going to be nice to get some backup estrogen around here.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed with a nod. “You guys seem to have a surplus of Y-chromosomes.” Her gaze fell on Nikki. “Well, I guess not. Who—”

“My sister-in-law,” Wright said. “And my daughter.”

Buffy blinked, then frowned. “How does that work?”

“Blonde chit is the sis-in-law,” Spike murmured. “Wannabe slayer too.”

“That would make the child the daughter then.” Buffy gave an enthusiastic nod. “Makes so much more sense. Except…is she glaring at me?” She frowned and looked back to Wright. “Why is your sister-in-law glaring at me?”

He cast a glance over his shoulder and sighed. “’Cause you’re a vampire.”

“She knows that wasn’t my choice, right?”

At that, he stiffened. “Yeah,” he replied. “And that’s part of the problem.” He turned back to her, eyes wide. “Listen, Buffy, I—”

Buffy held up a hand. “It’s… Well, it just is. And it’s okay. I’m not angry. At least right not at this minute. But that doesn’t mean there won’t come a day when I decide to give you the thorough ass-kicking you so richly deserve.”

“You’re not mad but you think I deserve an ass-kicking?”

“Oh, you definitely deserve an ass-kicking. I’m just choosing not to dole it out now and reserving the right to change my mind down the line.”

Spike smothered a snicker at Wright’s expression. “Just take it, mate,” he said. “Can’t really argue with her.”

“Well, you can try, but it’d be dumb,” Buffy agreed.

“So I take it you’re feeling better,” Cordelia said with a smirk.

“A world of yes,” Buffy replied. “Better. Much, much better. Last night was kinda heavy… I guess this entire thing’s gonna be one of those one-step-at-a-time shindigs. But right now I’m…okay.” She met Spike’s eyes and smiled. “Better than I…”

Cordelia, looking entirely too superior, smacked Spike's shoulder. “And you were worried.” She turned again to Buffy, the smirk in place. “You know he’s totally your bitch, right?”

Spike scowled. “Hey now—”

“Well, duh.” Buffy laughed at the look he threw her. “What? It’s eight kinds of obvious.”

“And has been ever since he got here,” Cordelia informed her.

The scowl remained in place. “Yeah, well, y’don’t have to look so bloody happy about it.”

“I kinda think I do,” Buffy replied cheekily, and he was possessed by a sudden need to wipe that self-satisfied look off her face with his mouth. He might have, too, had she not spoiled his fun by turning back to Cordelia and growing serious. “So was there an actual thing we needed to talk about, or did you just have us come down here so you could see I hadn’t dusted him?”

At that, Cordelia’s face fell. “Actual thing, sadly.”

“We have vampire trouble,” Wesley said and waved over the thoroughly brassed blonde bobby. Lindsey McDonald trailed behind her.

“About damn time,” Lockley muttered. “I didn’t come here to watch you guys socialize.”

Wes ignored her, went straight for the introductions instead. “Buffy, this is Detective Kate Lockley. I believe you know Lindsey.”

Buffy nodded, eyes sullen.

“Best we can figure, Angelus is aware that his attempt to murder you was…” A dramatic breath rolled across Wesley’s shoulders. “He knows that you’ve been turned.”

Buffy tensed. “How?” she asked softly.

“Dru,” Spike said, squeezing her hand. “She had one of her visions.”

“Most likely,” Wesley agreed. “Lindsey also speculates—”

“There’s a chance they have seen the security footage,” McDonald said. “I haven’t been there to supervise, so I cannot say for certain, but—”

“Whoa. Wait.” Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Security film? As in…cameras?”

Spike’s gaze narrowed. “You’ve seen everything that—”

“Yes. I know. Bad. But hey, I’m over it.” Lindsey held up a hand diplomatically. “It gets worse.”

Spike snarled and he felt the bones in his face begin to shift. “How worse?”

“Worse as in your friends have been tearing apart the town,” Lockley snapped. “In a manner that is blatantly obvious. In two days, they’ve hospitalized more than—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Buffy decided, pulling away from Spike for the first time since coming downstairs.

“They’re trying to draw you out,” Lindsey said. “He wants to—”

“What part of ‘don’t wanna hear it’ didn’t you get? If you need, I can go over it again, slowly if you like.”

“With all due respect, Ms. Summers, you have to hear it,” Lockley retorted. “Because until you answer, people are going to keep dying.”

“You heartless trollop,” Spike snarled. “The lady’s been through hell and back and—”

“And I sympathize, but that doesn’t mean much to the people who are actually dying out there.”

Buffy stepped forward at that, her eyes taking on a yellow gleam he’d never seen before, and he realized she was close to losing control too.

She needed blood.

“You wanna say that again?” she asked. “Go on. I dare you.”

Either Kate Lockley had balls of brass or she was off her tree because the bitch didn’t so much as blink. “You’re a lot less dead than the three blondes your boyfriend strung up around town. And I know you’re strong enough to do something about it.”

Spike turned to Wes, fisting his hands. “You better get her outta here before I take a chunk outta her neck.”

“All I’ve heard is how powerful the Slayer is,” Kate said. “You telling me that was a lie?”

“I just got her back,” Spike snapped. “You think I’m gonna let her—”

“Whoa buddy.” Buffy turned her glare to him. “ _Let_ her?”

_Fuck._ She couldn’t leave. He didn’t think he could bear it. Logically, Spike knew that Buffy could handle anything thrown at her—knew that the only reason Dru and Darla had managed to get the upper hand was through cheating. She wouldn’t be caught off guard again.

But the thought of her going near the bastard, being within grabbing distance… Spike would have sworn his chest was breaking all over again. “Buffy,” he said, his voice choked, “it’s Angelus—”

“Yeah and I’m not breaking into song over it, but you do not get to decide where I go or who I stake. Let that be relationship lesson number one” She shifted back to Kate. “But as it is…slayer or not, I am so _not_ in a place to see him again. Not yet. I…” A shiver ran through her body. “I’m not on game. And after what he did…”

“You walked away from what he did. Others don’t have that luxury.”

This time Spike was certain he _would_ take a chunk out of the bint’s throat, but someone clapped a hand on his shoulder before he could do something that might earn him a good staking.

“You call being raped, stabbed, drained, and vamped a luxury?” Buffy asked. “That was all in one hour. Wanna count how many hours I spent there?”

The demon in his chest roared harder now, louder. Any second it was going to burst forward and he would rip the sodding detective limb from limb.

“You’re still here,” Lockley replied through her teeth. “Unlike eighteen-year-old Miranda Livingston, whose funeral is arranged for tomorrow afternoon at three. Or how about twenty-three-year-old graduate student Clark McAlister. He died of severe hemorrhaging as a result of—”

“Stop!” Buffy screamed, nearly in tears. “I don’t—”

“Yeah, it’s easy for me to stop. Tell that to Angel.” Lockley stepped forward intently. “I know it’s asking a lot. It’s asking more than a lot. What you’ve been through… I can’t begin to imagine. But I do know about you, Ms. Summers. Granted, I don’t know everything about slayers, but I know enough. I know that you had power before and I’m willing to bet that you have even more now. If anyone can put an end to this, it’s—”

“The answer’s no,” Spike snarled, straining forward again, and again was held back. “I don’t give two fucks what your sodding reasoning is. Now get the bloody hell outta here before Zangy’s finger slips.”

Buffy released a defeated sigh. “Oh god. I’m going to have to do it, aren’t I?”

“No,” Spike barked.

“Yes,” Lockley said at the same time.

“Spike—”

“No. _No._ You said it yourself, you’re not ready.” He turned to Wright, desperate, and nearly crumbled when his friend nodded in silent agreement. “We’ll go. Zangy, Charlie, Wes…we’ll go.”

“I’ll go,” Nikki volunteered.

Spike, Wright, and Cordelia answered as one. “No.”

“But I—”

“No.”

Buffy pulled Spike back to her. The look in his eyes had not changed. “It’s me he wants,” she said softly.

“And that’s exactly why it shouldn’t be you,” Wright said, clapping Spike on the shoulder.

She shook her head like she hadn’t heard him. “Spike—”

“I can handle Angelus,” he promised. “I can.”

“We all can,” Zack agreed. “Especially with Lockley coming. Right?”

It was a clear challenge. One that she accepted.

“Of course.” Kate’s gaze centered on Buffy. “If this is a problem that you two need to work out, by all means. But I have to agree that a slayer on our side—”

That was it. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Spike roared and his fangs descended. He took a second to enjoy the fear that flashed across Lockley’s face. “Shut your gob before I rip your tongue from your mouth.”

“Hey,” Lindsey snapped. “Calm down. There’s no reason to—”

“No reason? No bloody reason?” Spike wrapped his arm around Buffy’s waist and hauled her to him. “You’re asking her to offer herself to the bloke who bloody killed her a sodding _day_ ago.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “You selfish bastard.”

At that, another growl hit the air. It took a second for Spike to realize it was Buffy’s, and that her demon was close to bursting free. And god, he felt such a swell of love for her he might have burst into tears had he not been ready to tear out Lockley’s throat.

“I’m not going,” Buffy said, firmer this time. “I’m not ready.”

The lobby fell quiet.

“Ms. Summers…” Lockley began slowly. “I know this has been a trying time for you, especially given recent circumstances, but—”

“I’m not going. Not now.” Buffy drew in a deep breath. “I’m too… I wouldn’t help. At all. I’m not ready to go against him. With what happened…it was like nothing that’s ever happened to me. It’s just…not enough time. And I’d be unbalanced, Spike would be unbalanced, and I’d be even more unbalanced worrying about Spike getting caught off guard because of his unbalanceness. And…I don’t know if you’ve ever been raped. I hope you haven’t. I don’t know if you’ve ever been tortured. Again, hope you haven’t. But…strong isn’t all physical. If I’m not present upstairs”—she tapped her head—“I can do a lot more damage than good. Plus I…” She looked down, licked her lips. “I don’t have the vamp thing down yet. I’m standing here and all of you guys smell like dinner, and I don’t trust myself to have control over something I don’t yet know well enough to understand. If I can’t trust myself then I’m going to be even more of a liability. So Spike can go. And…” She wrinkled her nose. “Zangy and Charlie.”

Spike barked a laugh in spite of himself, then again when the boys groaned.

That breaking sensation was back, but this time paired with relief and more bloody love than he thought a man could stand.

Lockley said nothing for a moment. Then she drew back and gave a short nod. “Fine.” She turned her attention to Spike. “But you’re coming with me.”

“Fine,” he repeated in the same manner.

And it was fine. Because the chance to tear Angelus apart was not something he would back away from.

That bastard was going to dust.


	40. The Three Great Troubles

Ever since Angel had waltzed into her life, Kate’s hours had held nothing but work. It had been easy to blame him in the beginning, and easier even now, but she’d be lying if she said that any of what had happened since he’d lost his soul was what she expected.

In truth, Angel's absence left a disquieting unbalance in her life. She had no one to turn to when she sported a really hot lead. And despite everything, she didn't trust those who worked for him nearly as much as she had trusted the man himself. Even with the replacement vamp Angel’s underlings had recruited, even with the anthologies and text the faithful staff had at their disposal, Kate knew none of them like she knew Angel.

But Angel was gone. Angel was out there right now, ripping the throat out of another unsuspecting victim whose face would be forgotten within a week.

The thought made her sick.

Enough time had passed that Lockley felt comfortable considering herself an authority in vampirism. She had dedicated hours to studying Angelus and his lackeys, and though it had been a grizzly task, she had pulled through admirably.

Hell, she felt closer to him now than she had before, such to the point that she figured she could pinpoint who had killed whom. This was a talent she neither liked nor wanted, but it was all for the job.

From what Kate could tell, Darla was customarily behind the quick deaths. Those reported back to have lasted no longer than seven minutes. These were typically clean: a bite to the throat, a snap of the neck, no artistry. There was likewise no consistency in pattern from where she selected her kills. They were sporadic at best. But even still, what Kate lacked in Darla’s background, Zack Wright made up for. He had been all too happy to take the task of hunting the bitch down himself.

Drusilla was a different story. Her kills at times seemed almost sloppy, as though she hadn’t meant to do it. Lockley suspected that Drusilla shared some of Spike’s impatience, which led to bouts of rage that ended her victims’ lives prematurely. Her victim of choice typically fell in the vagrant category—those to coddle and coo and make time with before she tired of her game and moved on to the next conquest. She had an established hunting ground and had yet to go beyond it, and while this seemingly handed the LAPD the advantage, Kate knew that Drusilla would only allow herself to be captured if she could turn it into a game.

And Angel. Angel.

_Angelus._

Angelus was teasing them. Calling out to them. Tempting fate wherever he went. His kills were dynamic and theatrical. It was a horror story come to life. A simple murder could be turned into a media circus with a few strings and he was good at pulling those. It was his calling card. He wanted her to know exactly where he was at all times. He wanted Buffy to know where he was. He wanted them to come after him.

Buffy had turned him down.

Kate shook her head. On some primal level, she knew it was unfair to expect anything of a recently freed torture victim. No matter if said torture victim was stronger than any one person she had ever met. But the rest of her was just resentful because Buffy would live. Others wouldn’t. And Angelus was tearing up the town with one objective in mind.

If only she had killed him when she had the chance...

This was different. She knew it was. Her previous prejudice had been unjustified, even if she would never admit it. What he was now counteracted every truth she had experienced firsthand. Angel had been a reliable associate and—if she wanted to be entirely honest—a good friend as well. Perhaps it was that knowledge that had blinded her. She didn't know anymore. It was so difficult to judge.

The band from Angel Investigations had split based on the information Lockley had given them on each vampire’s hunting ground. Wesley and Gunn were patrolling the areas where most of Drusilla's victims had been found, as neither were eager to add Angel to their kill list, despite everything.

At first, both men had seemed slightly apprehensive of Spike's reaction when they announced their intent to kill Drusilla. Spike had shaken his head and wished them good luck before going on his own way.

He was after Angelus. And Zack Wright was after Darla.

When committing herself to the job, Kate found it utterly imperative to disassociate herself on a personal level from her surroundings. She would utilize whatever came under her care if it could be wielded to her advantage. Her travels tonight had led her to a wide alley where the stench of death and blood thickened the air like molasses. It wasn't entirely different from her previous exploits. The setup, however, had too much of Angelus's personality for her liking.

Rather, it reeked of him.

The past few days had forced her to become reacquainted with the stories of old that she’d first buried herself in when she’d discovered Angel’s dirty little secret. She’d committed pages of his past to memory, including the grizzly details of his kills, when historians felt reasonably confident that he was responsible. And god, the centuries had seen so many. A chambermaid doing her best to protect her child. A British deserter trying to find refuge from the invading French army. Some text claimed that he had met and dined with Napoleon Bonaparte, feeding him several strategies that would have led the army to victory had the advice been heeded. The demon had feasted on more of history's dead than she cared to consider. To Angelus, mankind was beneath him, thus he took no shame when he killed. A babe, a kindly old man, a widowed mother struggling to keep food on the table. It simply didn't matter to him.

Blood was, after all, blood.

Therefore, Lockley knew better than to blink when she found herself gazing at the dead girl. The gash at her throat bore relatively fresh marks. Her face was young but dirty. Her eyes dead but wizened with knowledge. She was one of the city's many casualties. Another homeless body that no one would claim, much less miss.

Even still, Lockley felt her eyes well with tears and she cursed herself for it. But a girl was dead and no one would care. No one. If anything, she deserved someone to cry for her.

Except this wasn’t the only corpse in the alley. Not two feet from the girl lay another body. A boy. And another. Two, then, three, and four and five.

He was here. And he was trying to get someone's attention.

No. That wasn't right. He was trying to get _Buffy's_ attention. And he didn't care how long it took him.

Kate raised her head, her tears gone now. "I know you're here," she announced. "And I'm the only one coming."

There was no response. No condescending chuckle. There was nothing at all.

Lockley's eyes narrowed. A calm, controlled breath rolled through her lips, and she indulged a few more quiet steps forward.

Tonight was the last. She felt it. No more children would find their blood on her hands. Not again. Not from this vampire. One of them was going to die before the evening was over.

And damned if she didn't do her best to make sure it wasn't her.

Lockley expelled another breath, walking forward.

"Angel," she said again slowly. "It's over. All of it. Your girls are being hunted, and I have it on good authority that Wolfram and Hart has removed you from their...special projects." That much was a lie, but he didn’t need to know that. "If Darla and Drusilla are not stopped tonight by your ex-best friends, then surely—"

"I tell you, Katie," he said from nowhere. Nowhere and everywhere. The lazy drawl of his voice was enough to freeze her blood in her veins. Lockley whirled but saw nothing. "For someone who talks as much as you do, you really have nothing to say."

She gnawed on her lower lip, hating how her heart suddenly raced. How her legs at once wanted to do nothing but run. "I see. You don't care. Well, can't say that surprises. But—"

"But nothing. You're out here chasing me with your little gun. I had really, really hoped you knew better than that." Something crashed behind her and the voice changed directions. And still nothing. The thundering of her heart became louder with every second, but she would not admit her fear. Fear was for the weak, and she was never weak. "It's kinda cute when you think about it," Angelus continued. "Heroes Incorporated has divvied into teams. I suppose Spike's hunting down Drusilla...or no. No. Take that back, Katie, I've changed my mind. You see, Spike could never bring himself to stick it to a girl he once fucked. You should appreciate that. Guess that means the boy's coming after me, too. Well, whaddya say? The more the merrier, am I right?" He paused. "How many are out tonight, hmmm? Let's see. They got you—the wannabe slayer. Spike, the fucker of slayers. Wesley, who doesn't know how to keep a slayer. Gunn, who wouldn't know a slayer from his dead sister. And the demon hunter. The male slayer."

Another pause and he seemed closer. Lockley jumped and turned but there was nothing to answer her—nothing but the mocking ring of his endless chuckles.

"But where, sweetheart, do you think the real Slayer is? Hmmm? Really, after all we shared, I thought she'd at least care enough to answer my messages in person. Instead, we have her troupe of loyal lackeys. Is that what you are, Katie? A lackey? I gotta tell you, you're not a very good one. I mean—come on—a gun? Scary business there."

Closer still. God, she could almost feel his breath on her throat. Kate whirled and aimed blindly but saw nothing but dark.

"Whaddya gonna do, Officer? Arrest me? I'm sure that'll fly downtown. The boys'll take one look at you and laugh you out of the precinct. You've been wanting to pin something on me for over a year, and you haven't been very quiet about it. This to me rings as a little...oh say..."

Something suddenly leaped from the darkness, grasped her wrist and twisted her arm until she was chest-to-chest with an anchor of steel, losing herself in endless, soulless eyes that knew no mercy. Her gun fell and he kicked it away before she could even think to go after it. His smile was thin and nasty. And she knew without having to know anything at all that she had lost.

She had lost without even putting up a fight. Without seeing. Without thinking. Without being able to save the girl he would murder next.

Because it was her.

"Desperate," he breathed into her ear.

And again to the victor goes the spoils. Twice she had felt Angel's fangs pierce her throat. Twice she had mentally berated herself has he pulled on her blood. Twice she had wanted to scream and writhe and put up something of a struggle. To go down as she was meant to go down. To not be another face that he added to his list of kills.

The first time he’d bitten her had been to save her.

This time was to watch her die.

 

*~*~*

The scent of blood coated the air so thick that Spike thought even he might choke on it. He’d thought he was just behind the officer, but her scent had a means of scattering when he allowed his guard to drop. It was more than evident that she had spent a great deal of time out here. Wandering these alleyways and garbage heaps in search of her personal sanctuary. She wanted Angelus dead almost as much as he did.

No small wonder why. From what he gathered, Angel had made her trust him before. Wanker had a habit of doing that and then going evil.

Truthfully, Spike had not intended to follow Lockley this far. As per their agreement, he would stalk a part of Angelus's hunting grounds. He had—well, sort of. He had walked through, noted instantly that the great git was nowhere in the vicinity, and left immediately to seek out the peeler. If Angelus realized that Buffy was not a part of the hunting group, he would likely focus on the next best thing.

Namely a lovely blonde with strength, determination, and an attitude.

Lockley was walking around with a fat 'Come Bite Me' stamp on her forehead.

Evidently, Lindsey McDonald agreed, for Spike picked up the lawyer’s scent seconds before finding the man himself, looking harried. Bloke wasn’t even supposed to be out here tonight, but apparently, he’d found a spare set of stones back at the hotel.

McDonald didn’t bother to explain himself. Instead, he barked, "Is he near?"  

Spike inhaled deeply and nodded. "Oh yeah," he said. "Very close. So's the bird."

"There's blood."

"Quite a bit. And not all the same."

"Meaning...?"

"Meanin' Angelus seems to have made himself a collection." There was no doubt of that; Spike was picking up too many varieties in blood to belong to the same person.

"Angel's developed a serial killer syndrome?" Lindsey arched an eyebrow. "Collecting trophies, luring his victims to his lair? That doesn't sound like him."

"I don't think so, either." Spike paused. "It’s not like him. His style might change here and there, but he's, in essence, the same ponce he was the day after he was sired. No...if he's keepin' his goodies after he drains 'em, it’s to make sure that someone like—oh say—us, knows where to come lookin'."

More precisely, Buffy.

Angel was trying to entice Buffy out of her asylum.

The thought made him raw with hatred.

"You think she's out here?" McDonald asked.

Spike's head reeled up. "Buffy?"

"No. Detective Lockley." The lawyer rolled his eyes. "I’m pretty sure you and Buffy are so in tuned you know when the other sneezes, let alone goes on missions like this. Secondly—"

"Vamps don't sneeze."

"Really?"

Spike frowned and thought about it. "Don't reckon so." He paused, then waved at him to get on with it. "Secondly...?"

"Oh. Right. Secondly, do you ever stop thinking about her?"

"Can't afford to, mate. Not now."

A long beat passed between them—the air thick enough to choke on.

"Without pissing you off," Lindsey said a minute later as they continued on, "can I tell you how impressed I am?"

Spike arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I know that you and Buffy aren't thrilled with having been captured on tape. And yes, while I did watch everything, it wasn’t…like whatever you thought it was like."

“You mean you don’t wank off to me tonguing the woman I love, who happened to be in chains at the time.”

“Right. It wasn’t that.”  McDonald heaved a sigh, looking like he regretted having brought this up. "When Buffy was first brought to Wolfram and Hart, I didn’t know my place. I knew I didn't like what we had done. There toward the end, I didn't like much of anything."

"'Cept Darla," Spike observed.

"Yes. Except Darla." Lindsey's gaze darkened. "Not anymore."

He smirked, reached for his cigarettes and lit up. "Bird found your off button, eh?"

"Something like that." Lindsey shook his head. "I don't know what it was. I was enamored with her in the beginning. I can't see why now. She's a monster."

"Bloody right."

"Anyway," Lindsey continued. "What I was getting at... The way you were with her when she was their prisoner. That impressed me. You have more stamina than I would've thought, just reading your history."

There was a cold pause. "If you're referring to what I think—"

"No. No! God, no. I...that was different." McDonald's hands came up. "Like you said, I'm _not_ some creepy old man that sits and gets off by watching you get your girlfriend—"

"Finish that sentence, and I'll shove your still-beatin' heart down your throat."

"You're not the easiest man to pay compliment to, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, you’re bloody rubbish at giving them."

"I'm just saying," Lindsey continued a minute later, "that I think you did good. As good as could be expected. And I'm...I'm sorry for not helping before I did."

Spike glanced up. The men shared a long look of reason before he nodded. There was nothing else to put on the table. But oddly, that was enough.

And that was it for several seconds. Several long, tension filled seconds. Until Spike caught a whiff of what he had been waiting for and shot an arm up to keep Lindsey from moving forward. He paused for what seemed like an eternity to analyze the difference in scents—then his eyes widened.

"It’s the bobby. She’s hurt."

They found her on her back, eyes closed and a hand draped over her stomach. The twin puncture marks in her throat left little to the imagination.

Spike would have liked claim he regretted the threats he’d lobbed her way, but he didn’t. Still, it wasn't right, looking at her like that. Despite her human frailty, she was strong where it mattered the most.

"How long has she been here?" Lindsey asked, almost hoarse, kneeling at her side.

Spike shook his head. "A few minutes. The place reeks of Angelus. He's still here somewhere." He tossed a glance over his shoulder and bit back a grimace. "And he has quite a build-up of take-out containers."

He turned back to Lindsey, but Lindsey wasn’t paying attention. His fingers were pressed to Lockley’s throat. He found what he wanted—though Spike could have told him as much—and looked up with wide, hopeful eyes.

"She's not dead,” he said.

"Not yet, anyway," Spike agreed. "You better toddle off to a hospital or what all. Get her a blood transfusion. Angelus took enough to kill her. We just got here in time."

"Two for two, eh?"

Spike gave him a look.

"Right. Bad time for jokes."

"Bad joke altogether, mate."

"That too." Lindsey lifted Kate into his arms, then fished out his cell. He placed a quick call for an ambulance, then all but threw the phone to Spike. "I'm gonna have to get to a crowded area," he said. "You all right by yourself?"

"Gettin' to a crowded area doesn't matter one bloody bit to Angel."

"I know." He was already walking away. "But it matters to me."

Spike watched him disappear into the shadows. He suspected he should be annoyed at being abandoned—that was the vampire thing to do, anyway. Grumble whenever someone did something altruistic and do his best to bollix up the various good deeds he witnessed. Yet he couldn't bear the thought. One step after another. Buffy had brought him this far—everything else was of his own doing.

He wanted to believe that it was a side effect of working with Angel Investigations more intimately than he had intended, but the truth was, given the degrees of separation between what he had once been and what he had become, he found himself favoring what he used to hate. And while that spurned more than its fair share of conflicting emotions, he feared he wouldn't change anything.

To go back to what he had once been meant to give up everything being the other had given him. Acceptance. Love. Respect

His friendship with Zack Wright and Cordelia. The way the others looked at him. Everything.

Buffy.

God, he was such a wanker.

For now, though, he couldn’t afford to split his attention. Angelus was still out here. And every time Spike allowed his thoughts to go to his blood ties, he saw Buffy's pain-filled eyes. He felt the abrasions that marred her body. He heard her desperation in her plea not to be left alone. He tasted her blood and felt her tears against his skin. He smelled the sweat and dirt in her hair. And every inch of him tightened with rage he could barely contain.

He would beat the stuffing out of the git. He would beat him to bloody dust.

Spike puffed furiously at his cigarette before stamping it out. He turned in the direction that reeked heaviest of Angelus and sneered. "There's no use tryin' to sneak up on me, Peaches. Unless you're not man enough to come out here and get what you've got comin' to you."

As he suspected, that was all it took.

"If what's coming to me arrives in the package of a small, blonde, and slightly dead slayer, well then, sign me up."

There he was, standing in shadows. Staring at him as Spike stared back, renewed energy surging through his veins.

Spike smiled. "Well, we thought we'd try to make it a fair fight, mate. You know as well as any that she'd kick your sorry ass back to bloody Timbuktu if she took you on herself."

"I gotta say, I do like your definition of 'fair fight.'" Angelus cocked his head. "After all, the last time you bested me was...oh right...never."

Spike shrugged. "I was just goin' easy on you."

"I'm sure."

"Let's just say I’m not the one that's bloody left two of your intendeds something a little less than dead. First the Slayer, then the cop? You must be losing your edge." He perked his brows. "Not that I’m complaining. If you're slipping up, mate, all the better for me. I just won't get to enjoy killing you as long as I had anticipated."

Angelus’s eyes sparkled. "Hmmm. Yes. That was rather sloppy of me, wasn't it?" His smile became nasty. "You'd think maybe I had something planned."

"You'd also think you were bluffing."

He offered a lazy shrug. "Perhaps. Though really, I gotta say, for one of ours, Buffy isn't living up to par, is she? I really thought she'd've staked you good and dead for turning her into what you turned her into. Talk about disappointing." Angelus stepped forward. "Whaddya think? Think I softened her up well enough for you?"

That was it. The proverbial breaking point. Spike's eyes flared and his body had lunged forward before his brain could stamp its approval. In a tumble, he sent them both to the ground. His vision clouded with rage, his fists and fangs helpless servants to quench an undying thirst that knew no control. It lasted only seconds, but it felt like forever. Hands grasping and clawing at whatever flesh he could find. There was nothing if he couldn't end it now. Nothing.

Spike didn't realize he’d been kicked off until he felt his back slam against a brick siding. Then Angelus was advancing, all amusement gone.

"See, that's where you were always lacking," Angelus muttered, shooting out a hand and pinning Spike back against the alleyway wall. "Never thinking before acting. I swear, there are times I doubt my paternity. There's no way you could have ever survived as one of mine."

"Yeah, well..." Spike roared and shoved him away, whirled into the open as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "You never made a good Yoda."

Angelus chuckled and began to circle him. "So, what is it want? Hmmm? Honestly, boy, if you're looking for a fight, I can't say you've come to the wrong place. I seem to recall you once complaining about choosing brawls you knew you could win. Well, good for you. Practicing what you preach. Gotta admire spunk. Very romantic." His head slanted a fraction, eyes twinkling. "But here's the thing, Spikey... Buffy can't stand being coddled. And she doesn't particularly like submissive partners. From the way you were bellowing when you thought she was dead...really, it was moving. Darla and I had a good laugh at that. Can't say Dru was too happy, but really, when is she ever?"

Spike balled his hands into fists, nearly vibrating with rage.

"You think Buffy'll be as responsive to you as she was for me?" Angelus continued. "I gotta tell yeah, I can't imagine touching her dead. She was interesting enough when she was warm and had something of value to lose. Seems you can't help but take my hand-me-downs. I used her all up. Her virginity, her love, and her life. And what do you get? The sniveling runt that's left over. Used, abused, and desperate. Just the way you like 'em. But, as memory serves, you also have a problem with sharing." He leaned forward, his smile nasty. "Just keep that in mind when you touch her, okay? She screamed for me."

There was no such thing as fury. No such thing as hatred. No such thing as any pure emotion anyone had ever claimed right to experience. In a blink, Spike rewrote them all. Never before had he felt something replace him whole and leave nothing but a shell of action in his boots. He had moved passed casual acceptance and was now bent on retribution. As though the spirit of the devil could arise fully within one individual. It wasn't vampire or man that attacked then; it was a force that had never before shown face on earth. He felt nothing but the rage encouraging him forward, not the skin beneath his fingernails, the flesh at his fangs. He didn't even feel the force of the foundation behind him or the hand at his throat. He was still struggling. Still snarling and clawing. Removed from himself to a degree of threatening his own existence.

Clarity then. Something pointy was pressing into his chest. In a sweeping wave, reality settled around him.

"...face it, boy," Angelus was saying, the stink of his blood thick in the air. That was enough, Spike reckoned as his mind cleared. If he was going to die, he damn well wanted to go with Angelus's blood on his hands. "You never were or ever could be half the vampire I am."

Her scent hit him a second too late, and before he knew what was happening, Angelus had been forced away. Spike collapsed to the pavement without ceremony, but not before glimpsing her shimmering blonde hair and the most beautiful pair of determined green eyes he had ever had the privilege to see.

"He's a thousand times the man you are," Buffy spat, nailing Angelus with a roundhouse kick that sent the wanker soaring to the opposite end of the alley.

Spike just watched her, brain desperate to keep up.

Then the world came sweeping back.

"What the sodding hell are you doin'?"

Buffy tossed him a wry glance. "Saving your ass, do you mind?"

There was something so wholly familiar about that statement. It warmed his insides until he reminded himself that he was angry with her. "I don't bloody believe this..."

A frown graced her beautiful face and she shrugged. "Well, yeah, quippage fail, but I'm recently undead girl. Cut me some slack."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I thought we just covered that." Buffy turned her attention around, back to Angelus. "If you'll excuse me."

Oh no. She wasn't about to get away that easily.

And hell if he let Angelus near her again.

"Well, well," Angelus drawled, climbing to his feet. "Look what we have here. I knew Spikey couldn't keep you cooped up for long. I mean, come on, Buff. After everything we've shared? It was only a matter of time before you came running home to Daddy."

That was all it took. For the first time since she’d awakened as a vampire, Spike watched as the bones in her face shifted and her fangs descended. Then she was off, running at her killer with every bit of the rage he had felt only moments before.

Then he watched Angelus's arms close around her and felt his own fury spark to life again.

When he approached, however, the sight was too gratifying to interrupt. Buffy had straddled Angelus at the waist and was delivering a series of sobbing punches to his face. Battering him nearly unrecognizable as her own walls crumbled and she delivered back every hurt, every pain, every sodding tear. The alley rang with the heavy smack of fist against flesh, of Angelus’s grunts and the spatter of his blood. Spike watched for long seconds as the wanker’s head flew back, up, and back again. It was satisfaction beyond satisfaction. It was what she was owed. What Angelus deserved.

But there was something else. Something waiting under the pain.

If she continued like this, she would end up destroying herself along with him. Spike didn't know how he knew it, but he did. He did. So he did what he had to. He mounted her from behind, wrapped her small, lithe form in his arms and dragged her back to herself. The sobs wracking her body had the power to kill him. Completely, wholly, without judgment. He battled her for dominance and knew she was not herself when she granted it, twisting in his arms and burying her face in his shoulder. He held her to him as she released what she had to, sobbing.

But Spike’s gaze never left Angelus. He watched in contempt as the sod weakly stumbled to his feet.

It’d be easy to dust him here. And it was what the git deserved. An unremarkable death. A quick one. A forgettable one. But as much as he wanted to, Spike knew he couldn't finish him off now. Buffy was his priority, and she was hurting. He wouldn't let her go, and she was the one who should have the honors.

But not when she was falling apart. She needed to do it when her head was on straight. It needed to be her decision. Fuck if he knew why. But he understood it the way he’d understood that it was important to stop her from pounding the wanker to dust. It made fuck all sense but he wouldn’t ignore it. Spike might not be the world’s greatest thinker, but he always trusted his instincts. They hadn’t led him wrong yet.

"Leave," he growled. "Scamper off before I set her loose on you again, and we both finish you off."

The words made his stomach clench. He hated the thought of letting Angelus walk. But it was temporary. Only temporary. And the look on Angelus’s face as he turned and limped into the shadows said the wanker knew it too.

Facing him now had been foolish. Too soon.

After satisfied that they were alone, Spike turned his attention fully to Buffy, lifting her face to his. She had melted back into her human features—the existence she knew but could not return to, and the sight pulled him rightly apart.

And yet, despite everything, he couldn't allow himself to forget that he was angry with her.

"You said you weren’t ready," he whispered.

Buffy gazed at him with tear-filled eyes. "What?"

"You said you weren’t ready to do this tonight." He hated it that his voice choked, but he couldn't help himself. She was stronger now than she had ever been before, and he had never been more afraid for her. "Look how right you were. I could've...God, I could've lost you."

Little by little, her gaze was clearing. Signs of her return to herself. He felt his courage growing along with it. "Spike—"

"Why?"

"Why...?"

"Why would you?" He broke off. "I could've—"

"Cordy..." She was panting, clutching at his shoulders. "Cordy had a vision. She saw you. She saw you and I had to come."

He stared at her. "Cordelia...had a vision."

"She does that, apparently."

"I bloody well know she does that." That was it. Something primitive snapped. Whatever hold she claimed released him with more of the same, and he allowed his worry and grief to intermingle with the more familiar anger. Anger was good. He had lived with anger for a good, long time. He knew how to deal with it. "But you said you weren’t ready. I heard you bloody say it. Fuck me, love, you coulda been killed!"

Buffy's eyes widened. "Oh, and what, you couldn't? Because when I came up here, it kinda looked like you were about to bite the dust."

He snickered, turning away from her. "I can handle myself."

"You don't—"

In a second, he whirled back to her, chest hot. "You have any sodding idea what I went through?" he barked. "Every day, worrying that I wasn't going fast enough. That you wouldn't be there when I came for you. That I'd be too fucking late and you..." He trailed off helplessly. "You can't be that bloody flippant with your life. You said you weren’t ready to come out here so _don’t bloody come out._ Don’t make me lose you again."

"Don't."

The word came out with such blunt force that it shook him. "What?"

"Don't even, you presumptuous bastard."

"I—”

"Or actually, do it. Come on. I wanna hear it. I want to hear you say that you wouldn't have done the exact same thing." Buffy stepped forward, eyes flaring. "I want you to tell me you wouldn't have bolted out of the lobby with hell at your heels. Come on, Spike. Tell me. Tell me you wouldn't have come for me. Go on. Tell me I was wrong in worrying about you. I want to hear it."

He stared at her for a long, incredulous minute, unsure what to say. Finally, he resorted with a weak, "That's different."

"Oh really? How?"

"'Cause I'd cross hell for you and back."

"And you think I wouldn't?"

The answer was immediate but honest. "No."

"What? Why not?"

Horrified, he blurted the first thing that came to mind. "What? I love you, that's what."

As if it held grounds above what they were arguing over. Their argument that was anything but an argument. All cards on the table. No going back from here.

Buffy’s jaw tightened.  "Oh yeah?" she retorted. "Well, get a load of this. I love you too, you ass."

There it was—the one thing that could render him speechless. Spike stared at her with wondrous awe, unknowing whether or not it was appropriate enough to plead her words were the truth.

She loved him.

And she was still yelling at him.

"So there," she was saying hotly. "You see, we're even. We're—"

But she didn't finish. Couldn't.

Spike had her pressed against the nearest wall in seconds, mouth ravaging at hers. Where the tears had come from, he didn’t know. Only that they had worked themselves into a frenzy of sobs and kisses. He tasted her fully, openly, giving no want for restraint. His hands explored her body with liberation that knew no master. And then she was battling him. Warring with his tongue for dominance as she pulled at his shoulders, combed through his hair, cupped his face and held him to her. The taste of her had him drunk, but he had not indulged nearly enough.

He pulled away panting, rested his brow hers, anger vanished. "I can't."

"Can't?" she gasped.

"Tell you. Tell you that I wouldn't have come after you." He leaned forward to taste her lips. "I'll always come after you."

"I know."

She attacked his mouth again and then she was in his arms, her legs around his waist. Spike pressed himself against her center, his cock hard and his nostrils flooded with her rich scent. His lips finally abandoned hers and took chart down her neck.

"Oh god," she whimpered.

He chuckled and thrust himself against her. "You have no bloody idea."

Buffy offered him a tender smile and pushed her hips back against his, pressing at his cock. A resounding growl answered her call, and then they were rubbing together. Denim against denim. His hands gained confidence, one palming her breast through her shirt, the other cupping her ass and leveraging her so she could feel him in full. His mouth was working up her throat again, seizing her lips without mercy.

Then he felt her hands at his fly and about howled. Before his brain could come fully back online, she had his cock in her hand and was pumping him with enthusiasm that would have him spilling in no time if he didn’t get her to stop.

And he had to get her to stop. The first time they were together would not be here—in an alley still stinking of Angelus, soaked in blood and littered with bodies. He didn’t even know if she’d realized they were surrounded by the dead. He thought not because Buffy was not the kind of woman to take that in stride. She was riding the high provided by her demon and not thinking clearly.

So by some twist of unfunny fate, he had to do the thinking for them both.

Spike seized her wrist and drew her hand away. "No."

Buffy inhaled deeply, and her eyes filled with hurt. She unwound herself from him and staggered a step back.

"Look at me," Spike demanded, jolting her chin upward. "You have no idea how much I want you. How long I've wanted you. Since the first time I saw you, I think. Too bloody stupid to admit it at the time, but it was there. And the craving's only gotten worse over the years. I want you so much I can't fuckin' see straight. It’s a bloody miracle I haven't gone cross-eyed."

The Slayer worried a lip.  "But...?"

"But nothing." He offered a lopsided grin. "I just love you too much to take you in some alley. Like this. It’s not right. Not right for you. I might not be above it, Buffy, but you are. We do this, we do it right. Not in some place that still stinks to high bloody heaven of your ex."

He didn’t mention the bodies or the blood. No sense in drawing her attention to it if she hadn’t worked out that was what the smell was yet. Maybe the blood covered the smell of death, or maybe she didn’t know yet what death smelled like. He didn’t know and he wasn’t going to stop and educate her now. If where they were really occurred to her, she’d be horrified, and she’d had enough of that.

Thankfully, her mind was still just with him. Buffy stared at him for a long moment before a gentle smile broke across her face. She cupped his cheek, then guided his mouth to hers.

"You're above it, Spike."

He returned her smile. "I'm glad you think so."

"I know so." With a sigh, she watched with hunger that made him moan as he tucked himself back into his jeans.

There was nothing for a long, disquieting moment.

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth, then met his eyes. "So...you wanna go back to the hotel?"

"God, I thought you'd never ask."

It was a miracle they made it back as quickly as they did. Night or day, Los Angeles was a city that was not easy to navigate, especially when one had a horny slayer tucked into one’s side.

It was a hard job, but he managed admirably.

“We should probably try to make it to a bed, right?” Buffy muttered. “Like, no tackling you right inside the lobby?”

“You’ll hear no complaints from me, love.”

“Right, but still…modesty is a good.”

Spike chuckled and squeezed her tighter against him. Impossible that today had been real. That he’d started with her mouth around his dick and ended like this. With Buffy nibbling on his ear and making thinking a bloody Olympic sport. With Buffy loving him.

His mind, though, did conjure up something—the image of her beneath him, gloriously naked and panting, but telling him to stop. Stop because she wasn’t ready.

That had only been hours before.

Spike drew to a sudden standstill and turned to her. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

Buffy smirked. “Well, as much fun as it would be doing the wacky with an audience—and yes, sarcasm—I think I’d rather have you to myself.”

He shook his head. “No, this morning, pet. You said you needed—”

“Oh.” She rolled her eyes. “That was ages ago.”

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want.”

“Spike, back there with the me writhing against you—that was all one hundred percent want.” A small smile tickled her lips and she leaned up to kiss him. “I didn’t expect to want this so soon. Hell, even this morning, I thought something might be wrong with me.”

At that, he growled. “Rot.”

“It just seemed weird that I could have… _experienced_ what I experienced and still want you to do naughty things to me and vice versa.” She grinned when he growled. “But that’s what I want. I wasn’t ready this morning but I am now. Maybe that makes me sick, I don’t know—”

He captured her cheek and drew her face to his. “You’re not sick. You feel how you feel. No right or wrong about it.”

Buffy smirked. “And you’re not just saying that because me wanting you equals happy times for Spike?”

He shook his head, not returning her grin. “No. I want you, always do, but… I want it to be what you want too. If that’s now or tomorrow or next sodding year—”

“So not going to be a year.” She released a sigh. “I guess there’s a way I think I’m supposed to think or something. What happened to me was awful and it feels like I should need more time before I feel like this. But I don’t. And I spent too much time worrying about what I wanted before. As in _way_. I don’t want to do that with you too.” Buffy squared her shoulders and met his gaze. “So believe me when I say I want you right now.”

Spike moaned and lowered his lips to hers, shuddering. “You’re perfect.”

“And still dressed. Why did we stop walking again?”

“Bloody fantastic question.” He scooped her into his arms, his chest swelling when she answered with a shrieky giggle, and started running in the direction of the Hyperion.

“All right, cave-Spike,” Buffy chided, “you can put me down now.”

“My way’s faster.”

Except the second he neared the door, a scent hit his nostrils that had his feet pulling the brakes.

Buffy grunted in surprise. “Hey, what gives?”

Spike shook his head and lowered her to the ground without looking at her, the warmth in his chest fading.

“We have a visitor,” he said and seized her hand.

Buffy stiffened at once. “Ang—”

“No.” He shook his head. There was no reason for him to feel like this—this dread. If his nose wasn’t lying, the person who was here was a friend. Yet dread consumed him anyway, burning so hot he thought he might dust on the spot.

When he drew near and saw the blonde sitting beside Cordelia, he would have sworn something inside him broke.

Spike was ready when Buffy gripped his hand tighter.

"Buffy," Cordelia said uncertainly. "Hey. I didn't know what to do. She claims to be a friend of yours. Is—"

"It's fine," replied the Slayer, and Spike heard the tremor in her voice. "Hello, Tara."


	41. Deliverance

A long, unsettling silence filled the air, and Tara offered a nervous smile when the tension failed to wane. "Was it something I said?"

In minutes, the population of the lobby had nearly doubled. A frustrated Zack Wright had piled inward just seconds after Spike and Buffy had tumbled inside, Gunn and Wesley not far behind. While Wright had had absolutely no success, the other men appeared a little worse for the wear. They related a brief account of finding Drusilla feeding on some coed and though they had successfully intervened, the crazed vampire had gracefully dodged everything they’d thrown at her before seemingly leaping into the night without a trace.

Spike had shrugged. "That sounds like Dru. She has about a thousand and a half tricks up her sleeve that she never shared with me. It’s one of the only ways we got out of Prague not deader than usual."

That had been before any of the returning hunting party had noticed the new guest standing in the lobby. They had suffered through several excruciating introductions that, naturally, entailed detailing the revelation that Willow had switched teams following Oz's departure.

Then Tara had related why she was with them and not in England, and everyone had fallen to a depressingly deep silence.

"Could you..." Buffy began, squeezing Spike's hand. "Could you...go over that again?"

Tara nodded, but it was a timid sort of nod. "There's really not much to go over," she explained. "Willow told me how to do it. We went over it several times. She even told me how to pronounce some of the harder words."

"Why now?" Cordelia asked softly. "Why not when this first started? Why not anytime before now?"

"Glory," Tara replied with a weak smile. "We were afraid... Oh, she hasn't found us," She rushed to assure Buffy. "But if she did, Willow's the one who could ward her off. Well, she'd...she'd be better than me. She's really...she's..." After an awkward beat, she looked back to Buffy. "She told me I could do this."

There was nothing but a numb nod. "I know you can. Wills did it before she had any practice."

"Just for clarification," Wright interrupted sharply, "what exactly are we talking about? Considering? Because as of right now, not really liking what I'm hearing."

Spike inhaled. "Don't you get it?" he retorted, his tone hard. "They want Angel back. And now Glenda has a way. Innit neat? Got everythin' right worked out, they do."

Buffy twisted to look at him. "Spike—"

"No, no. It’s fine. I mean, who wouldn't want the prat back? He just tortured the living life outta you. Real keeper, that one. Such a prince. My bloody hero." Spike turned away dropping her hand. "Oh, but I forgot, it’s not really him at all, is it? Really, with all the bloody bouncing he does, it’s no small wonder I get myself all turned around. I mean—"

"You're not really considering this, are you?" Wright demanded, glancing sharply to Buffy.

And at that, there were no means to reply. "I...I..." She looked helplessly at Spike, her eyes wide and full of indecision. "I..."

"Angel is our friend," Wesley said softly.

" _Was_ our friend," Gunn added, tone neutral. "Really, after all that's happened, I'm not sure what—"

"Angel's our friend," Cordelia snapped. "And if there's a way to get him back, we'll take it. Haven't we said this is what we want from the beginning?"

Spike raised his hand. "I haven't."

"Neither have I," Wright agreed, sneering.

Cordelia sighed heavily, shaking her head. "It's not like it's that simple, all right? We're not picking lotto numbers, here. He's our—"

"Friend. Yeah. I get it." Zack cast her a dirty look. "Sorry if I still fail to see where it's not simple. Angelus is a killer. End of story."

"Yeah," Gunn agreed. "And, last time I checked, so's he." He gestured at Spike. "As a matter of fact, that one doesn't have a soul. Hell, he doesn't even have a chip anymore." He brought up his hands. “Look, I’m on your side on this, but if that’s your argument, it’s got flaws.”

Buffy blinked, turning to Spike with wide eyes. "You don't? I mean…the chip?"

"No," Spike growled. "I don't. Lindsey and the wankers at Wolfram and Hart took it out when I was acting like the Order's bitch. Couldn't rightly hunt with a bug-zapper in my noggin, now could I?" He implored her with his gaze, and when she failed to summon words, he bristled and turned away. "Bloody typical."

Tara took an exaggerated step back from him. "Y-you...your chip is out?"

Spike favored her with a particularly menacing glare. He had always had a soft spot for the witch so it couldn’t help but sting, the way she was looking at him now. "Yeah, it's out," he retorted bitterly. "I'm free to be a bad boy. Reign as much pain and terror as I bloody well choose. William the Bloody, back in action. Hey, I got an idea. Want a number of how many blokes I've killed since it was yanked? Zero. Oh, and even better. Want a number of how many blokes I plan to? You'll never guess this. Zero. Where's the sodding trust?" He held up a hand. "Oh, I forget. I'm a vampire. Asking for trust is asking too much."

"That doesn't change anything," Buffy remarked softly.

His eyes widened. "I—"

"It changes nothing." Without giving thought to anything else, Buffy grasped his wrist so that he would turn to her fully. "It's...I told you that I trust you. That I feel safe. And earlier in the alley, I meant that, too. The chip… In all honesty, I'd forgotten about it. And the soulless thing. And everything else. In the end, I guess, you're just you." She smiled weakly. "Everything else is just detail work."

Though it had happened several times in the last two days, Spike felt himself overwhelmed with such a powerful incursion of emotion that he was genuinely surprised the wave didn't knock him to the ground. She was amazing. She blew him away. With everything that had happened, everything she had seen, everything she had experienced, she still gazed upon him with love and acceptance. Things he had never fathomed receiving from anyone, least of all her.

He had given her every reason to walk away, but she was still by his side. And that astounded him.

With a small smile that did little to convey the depth of his feeling, he clasped her hand and offered a choked nod. "Thank you."

It was a weak thing to say, and yet he could offer no more. Not now.

A still moment spread through the lobby.

"Ummm…" Tara mused with a confused frown. "Did I miss something? Since when did… Buffy? You and Spike? You're…"

"They're a thing," Gunn explained, shrugging. "I take it that's not the norm where you come from."

Tara wasn’t satisfied. Trouble marred her brow, and her eyes flooded with concern. "Buffy, is this b-because of the…of the saving thing? I mean, it's great…what he did…but—"

"It's because of a lot of things," Buffy replied, not looking at her friend. She was squeezing his hand tightly—such that were he anything less than human, she likely would have ground his bones to dust. "A thousand things."

"I don't have a problem w-with it."

Unlikely. Spike knew Tara well enough to know that her stuttering problem only surfaced nowadays when she was uncomfortable or frightened. The present situation had undoubtedly unnerved her.

"I just don't know h-how the others w-will—"

"Later," Buffy said, still avoiding her eyes. "We'll deal with it later."

"Right now, there are more important things," Wesley agreed. "Like deciding what to do about Angelus."

"I still don't see what's wrong with the old fashioned stake through the heart," Wright muttered.

"Back to this again? How many times do I have to say it?" Cordelia rolled her eyes. "He's our friend!"

"He also killed your other friend."

"Who?" Tara demanded with a frown.

"Me," the Slayer said softly.

"Wait, wait, wait." Tara held up a hand. "What? Buffy—"

Again, Buffy averted her gaze but nodded just the same. "I was turned."

"Angel—"

"It wasn't Angel." Spike glanced up. Might as well put it all sodding out there. "It was me."

"No," Wright objected sharply. "It was me."

"You're a vampire?" Tara demanded with a frown.

"No. But I'm responsible."

"It was neither one of you," Wesley confirmed softly. "Tara was right from the beginning. It was Angelus. He killed—"

"Yeah," Spike agreed, notably unmoved. "But I turned her."

Zack arched a brow. "I made you turn her."

"I have no opinion on this," Gunn observed, crossing his arms.

Cordelia nodded. "Neither do I. Well, I sort've think it's more Angel's fault. After all—"

"What matters is that I don't blame Spike or Zangy—Zack." Buffy frowned. "Sorry."

The demon hunter shrugged. "It's okay. I'm used to it by now."

"That's fine," Cordelia replied. "But we still have to—"

"Hey, I got an idea." Wright turned to the group and offered a cynical smile. "Let's put it to a vote. All those in favor of killing Angelus, say aye."

He earned a positive response from Spike and Gunn, the latter of whom answered Wesley and Cordelia's identical glares with a shrug. "Doesn't really matter to me," he explained. "I like Angel. I do—"

"All of us have our faults," Spike mused.

"—but he warned us that the day might come when he'd have to be taken out. Right? He warned us repeatedly. Hell, he even commended our willingness to do it. If he knew there was a chance of reensouling his ass and he didn't tell us to take it, what makes any of you think he'd want this for himself?"

"Angel's a champion," Cordelia replied. "He deserves to make amends."

Buffy bit her lip. "Since when?"

"Buffy!"

Spike looked at her in surprise, hesitant to express the glee those two words brought him.

"The last time Angel went nuts, you and Xander did some heavy lobbying to make sure he bit the literal dust."

"And suddenly," Spike murmured, "my respect for Harris raises a notch."

"A lot has changed," Cordelia replied. "I work with him now. I understand him. I—"

"God, why don't you marry the guy?" Wright growled.

"What?" she snapped. "Are you seven or something?"

"I have a small child," he retorted as though it made a justifiable point. "Therefore, I can act like a small child."

"He does play with Barbies," Spike observed.

Zack whipped back to him in astonishment. "How the hell do you know that?"

"A little birdie told me. And, if I may stress, don't say stuff like that around a witch." Spike nodded to Tara, who immediately ducked her gaze to avoid the spotlight. "Little things like that have a wonky way of coming true."

Cordelia was staring at Wright. "You play with Barbies?"

"I have a little girl. Girls like Barbies. You do the math."

"Man," Gunn remarked, shaking his head. "All your cool points have been deducted based on this alone."

"That hurts, Charlie. It really does."

“Are you kidding?” Cordelia said. “He plays with _Barbies_ with his daughter. That’s _all_ man.”

Wright grinned. “Really?”

“Really. Sexiest damn thing I’ve ever heard.”

"Everyone, please,” Wesley said, holding up his hands. “There is still much to discuss, and bickering amongst ourselves over Barbies, of all the idiotic things, isn't going to get anything accomplished. We have to consider this from Angel's perspective." He took a dramatic breath. "What he has been through, especially given the affair with Buffy. With how he feels about her, how will he ever forgive himself for—"

"What?" Cordelia demanded, turning away from Wright. "And we're not even gonna give him the chance? He's a grown up vampire, Wes. He knows that he and Angelus aren't one in the same."

"He also knows that they're not _not_ one in the bloody same," Spike replied. "Why don't we take a poll here from someone who—unlike the lot of you—has seen both bloody sides of him back and front. How about—"

"Oh, and you're not the least bit bias, I suppose?" Cordelia spat.

His eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your Pro-Angel Party Of One over there."

"Well, I might not have been around for a hundred years, but I don't think we should leave Angel’s fate in the hands of someone who's never liked him."

"Maybe I don't like the wanker because I do know him better than you."

"Or maybe it's because you're a jealous, self-centered son of a bitch!"

"That's enough," Wright snapped, stepping forward with furious intent. "Honestly, Cordy—"

She rolled her eyes and backed away from him. "Oh, come on. You're willing to play best pal to Mr. Soulless but give a vamp who's on a real mission for good and _that_ brings out the hunter in you? Puhlease. Spike's killed a whole helluva lot. And—hey—that was him! I'm not judging!" She tossed an incensed glare over Zack's shoulder. "Much. Angel hasn't killed. He's—"

"Wrong, pet."

"What?"

"Your precious bloody Angel has killed." Spike prowled forward. "During the Boxer Rebellion when he was crawling on his hands and knees so dear ole Darla would take his sorry arse back to bed. He killed then. Soul and all, just to get in Darla’s knickers. He also told me he once didn't stop a local boy from getting knocked off 'cause it provided a tasty source of human-flavored blood for him to down. So you see, precious, he's not some bloody saint. Right? Now lay off."

She arched her brows. "When did he ever tell—"

"Back in SunnyD when he was that soulless wanker first time around. And, before you say anything, he had no reason to lie to me and Dru. He hated the bloody soul but he never ran from what it did to him, either." Spike offered a nasty smile at the look on her face. “And I'm willing to bet that he's done in a few of your Wolfram and Hart lackeys."

"Those guys are from Hell Incorporated," Gunn observed. "They don't count."

"They're human, aren't they? Isn’t that what sodding counts among you white hats?"

"If I may," Wesley said. "Everyone here has brought up valid points—"

"Some more valid than others," Cordelia grumbled.

"—but I believe the only sporting thing to do is leave the decision in Buffy's hands."

With that, all eyes fell on the Slayer.

Buffy blinked. "Me?"

There was a beat of consideration. Spike stepped forward and gently caressed her arm. "You're the one he hurt," he reasoned, though he didn't like it. "The one he...Wes's right. It should be up to you."

As he spoke, he felt something clutch his nonbeating heart. Her decision, whether she knew it yet or not, shone through her eyes.

It was there. Despite recognition, it was there. And even as she voiced her indecision, he felt the boulder of defeat blockade whatever happiness he had experienced earlier.

Angel. It was always Angel. Even after everything that had occurred, she always chose Angel.

Now would be no different

*~*~*

The shrill of the phone sounded through the near-vacant lobby, startling Buffy out of her reverie. She waited for a minute before rising to her feet to near the front desk and was just barely beaten out by Wright as he bounded from Wesley's office.

There weren't many things that she knew about the demon hunter, but given what Cordelia and Spike had related, he was a newcomer to the scene and wasn’t likely to stay after all was said and done.

The way he answered the phone, though, gave her a slightly different opinion.

"Angel Investigations," he drawled, "we let you get away with murder." When Wright caught her gaze, he mouthed, "Cordy taught me how to answer," then turned his attention back to the caller. "Oh. Right. I see. No, it's all right. You stay there. Trust me, we're not getting anything that could even remotely considered productive done. Yeah. Well, that and Frosty the Snow-Bitch needs someone there when she wakes up. Oh, fuck off. I'll call her that if I want to, all right? Fine. Whatever. Bye."

The caller on the other end hung up. Buffy smiled wryly and stepped forward. "Friend of yours?"

"It was Lindsey. He wanted to let us know that Kate's been out of danger for about an hour and her condition is stabilized." A sigh rippled through him. "Though she's sustained enough damage that she might be out for a while."

"Coma?"

"No. Just an 'out for a while' clause."

"Ah." Buffy exerted a deep breath and heaved herself onto the counter. "You think after she's released that I should suggest we go find Angel? After all, there are people out there dying and whatnot because of him. And it’s not like she died or anything."

He offered a weak grin. "Turnabout's fair play."

"It is at that."

A short, somewhat uncomfortable silence settled between them.

"So," Wright began a minute later, "what are you doing down here? I thought you and Spike..."

"He went to sleep."

The demon hunter frowned. "Isn't it a little early? Hell, I know it's a little early. It's early for me, and I'm human."

"Well, he's probably not really asleep…just pretending to be so he can avoid me. He's upset." Buffy sighed deeply. "Not like I don’t know why."

"Do you?"

"I hurt him today. Earlier. With the yelling and the… I hurt him."

"I hurt Cordy. Going to need to do some groveling before the night is over." He stiffened. "Even if I'm right."

"You really think so? You think that… You think that we should…?"

Wright shrugged. "He went through a lot to get you back. I'm guessing killing Angel's the only kind of peace he can accept now that the rest is over with. I get that. I really get that."

"I should hope so. Aside from Spike, you were the one rallying the most for Angel's story to have a dusty ending."

A smile stretched across the man's face. "He's too much like me for his own good."

"Angel?"

"Spike. In my mixed up logic, he's me. He's me, Angel's Darla, and you're the wife I couldn't save. It doesn't work like that, though. I know he's killed people before. I know it. I know he's probably done something so horrible that…that what happened to me doesn't even begin to compare. Well…" He stopped in consideration. "No. I don't think so. Never mind. What I know of Spike, he's too impatient to have taken the time to do what Darla did to me. But he has killed people. He's taken husbands away from wives and mothers away from children. He's separated people for over a century and if you ask him right now, he probably wouldn't be able to feel anything aside surface remorse. I know that. And once upon a time, that would've been enough."

Buffy pursed her lips. "To what?"

"To kill him. That's what I do. I'm a demon hunter."

"It's what I do, too. I'm the Slayer. It's my job."

"What changed for you?"

She offered a small smile. "I was tortured. And reality didn't matter anymore. Titles didn't matter anymore. I wasn't the Slayer then. Spike wasn't a vampire. He wasn't my enemy. I saw him and he was there for me, and he was Spike. Just Spike." Her gaze found a spot on the floor. And she was talking. Just talking. Talking to no one in particular. To anyone who would listen. "I thought about him before he was there. Hell, I even had a slayer dream about him. I think it was…yeah, it had to be."

"Slayer dream?"

"Prophetic dreams," she explained. "I've had them before. Always come true. And he did. He really came for me. And he was there to save me. He was… It made him real. Spike's always been just…Spike. Before this. But what he did…that made him real. It made him something more. I didn't see him as a vampire anymore." She stiffened. "I hadn't seen a real vampire until Angelus. Darla was right about that."

Zack swallowed hard. "Spike's become a friend," he said softly. "I don't know how it happened, but he has. I don't...I don't want to see him hurt."

"Neither do I." Buffy glanced at him quizzically until she understood what he meant and her eyes went wide. "Oh! Oh, that. I…what I feel for him isn't gratitude. I realized that…well, after Cordy gave me her little inspirational talk. I was worried. Very worried. I wanted it to be real. And it is." A sigh tore through her and she allowed her head to fall into her hands. "No, Zack. It's real. It's very, very real. So real that it scares me."

"I get that."

"It's just...now..." She shook her head, her eyes blurring with tears that could not be helped. "Now, everything else is real, too."

"I’m…not following that."

"This thing with Angel. Tara showing up. Everything is becoming real. Being here...being with...with Spike like this. With Wes and Cordy and…everyone…it's sort've surreal. And it's been easy to forget that I don't have a life somewhere else. That I have to…go home. And that things will still be there. My house. My sister. Glory. School. Oh god, school. Giles. He's going to be so...disappointed in me—"

"What happened wasn't your fault."

"I'm a vampire!"

Wright tensed. "That wasn't your fault."

"I know. I know. But it's real like it hasn’t been. My life stopped being real the minute I woke up in Lindsey's office, do you get that?"

He nodded but made no move to speak.

"And since then,” she continued, “I've been hopping from one nonreality to the next. If I go back…and it…"

"Are you afraid things between you and Spike will go back to the way they were?"

Buffy's eyes widened. "No. No! God, no. I thought it could at first, but now… No, that can't happen. I don't care what they think. My nonreality changed everything. He's keeping me grounded. He's what kept me from losing my mind."

"You don't have to convince me, Princess. I was there, remember?"

But Buffy shook her head, fear gripping her insides. "Do you… Is that what you think he thinks?"

"Well..."

"Because of the Angel thing?"

"Angel tortured you. I'd want him dead."

"It wasn't—"

"I wouldn't care. He tortured you. Fuck, he _killed_ you. He did things to you that makes Spike flinch. And Spike's seen a lot. You don't have to be a demon hunter to suss that out. The guy's got a strong stomach. I don't even wanna begin to know what that bastard put you through." Wright gave a hard sigh, ran his hand through his hair. "Do you really think that you can look him in the eye and forgive him for what he did to you, regardless of which face he's wearing? ‘Cause despite the soul, Buff, it's gonna be the same one."

A trembling sigh escaped her lips, and she shook her head, crippled with new uncertainty. "I don't know what to do."

"Well, your realities are coming back now, like you said." He shrugged. "This is part of it. What he did is part of it. So whatever you want to do… Well, I’d kill the beast. That, to me, is human nature."

"I'm not human."

"Sure you are. Being a vampire doesn't make you anything less." Wright sighed heavily. "And may I just say, bravo me for saying that. You're a good girl, Buffy. I don't know you that well, but I know that. And if you want help facing your demons, I might suggest holding the hand of someone who's been there."

"I need to talk to him."

"Well, yeah, but I was referring to myself."

A weak smile spread across her face. "Thank you."

Wright shrugged. "That's what friends of friends are for."

She shrugged. "Logic?"

"Works for me."

Buffy nodded, wiping her eyes to rid herself of the tears she had tried so hard to keep from expressing.

She could see why Spike liked him. He was a good friend. And a good man. A good, complex man working hard to rid himself of his own demons.

"Good luck with Cordy," she said, whirling on the counter to hop back onto the floor.

"Oh," he replied. "Trust me. I'll need more than luck."

A dry chuckle rumbled through her throat as she headed upstairs. There was certainly no doubting that.

The second she was alone, the Angel debate swarmed again, ready to consume her mind, but this time she was able to push it back. She was too damn tired to think anymore about this tonight. All she wanted to do now was curl next to Spike and sleep, maybe for the next hundred years.

Buffy paused in the doorway of the bedroom she was slowly coming to accept as hers and Spike's. The picture that welcomed her warmed her unbeating heart. Spike had fallen asleep while waiting for her. He had removed his shirt, but his jeans remained in place. He had one thumb caught in one of the loops, his other hand stretched above his head against the pillow. And even though he was lost to the world, she could hear the faint rhythm of the few breaths he breathed without needing to.

A faint smile tickled her lips. Damn, the man was a work of art.

Buffy made short work of her own attire. While a part of her wasn't sure if she was welcome in his bed after the spectacle downstairs, she reckoned this being in a relationship thing meant not running when things got hard. Plus, despite how he felt about Angel, she knew Spike loved her. He had told her so. More importantly, she had felt it beneath her hands. She had read it in his eyes. She had tasted it in his kiss.

This was nothing. This business with Angel.

It was nothing.

Or would soon be nothing. She had to give him that. She had to ease his worry.

Buffy sighed hard as she climbed into bed. She cuddled into his side, her chest tightening when he drew an arm around her. But he didn’t wake up and she didn’t wake him. They both needed rest.

Buffy leaned upward to kiss his temple. "I love you."

The words escaped her with such ease that she only lent herself pause when she thought of how he would react when they awoke. She had hurt him without meaning to, but she would fix it. Because she loved him.

She couldn't lose this. Ever.

If she did, she would never recover.

Buffy shuddered and snuggled into him as best she could, but the thought remained with her far after she had fallen asleep.

Forever was a long time to suffer for one mistake.

She had to make it right. And she would in the morning.


	42. Silver Satin Wings

Buffy blinked awake and sat up with a slow sigh, her hand automatically seeking the comfort of the man that was supposed to be at her side. But the bed was empty.

The room was suddenly very cold.

She groaned and collapsed back against the mattress. In truth, she supposed she should be grateful. For the first time since waking in her bed that final morning in Sunnydale, Buffy felt well rested. Alert. As though today was the beginning of something resembling normal.

The parts of her that were new—that were vampire—cued her into a few things. The sun had already been its highest in the sky and was making the trek back toward setting again. There were humans in the hotel; humans who had once more congregated downstairs, undoubtedly to continue the discussion regarding Angel's future.

Buffy forced her eyes closed and groaned again. She wasn't ready for this. Hell, she knew she would resent either conclusion she made on some level. At one end, there was Angel. Angel whom had always been there for her in one way or another. Angel who had loved her.

And yet, whenever she thought of him, she couldn’t help but picture Angelus. The guy who had cut her flesh open, lapped at her blood. The guy who had raped her and laughed at her as he did so.  The guy who had killed her.

Another shiver seized her. She needed Spike. She needed to make this right.

The thought had her on her feet in an instant, covers nearly strewn to the floor as she made her way about the room. She forced her thick hair to endure a hairbrush, perfumed herself up, and threw on some jeans and one of Spike's T-shirts. Then she stopped in front of the mirror to give herself a once over before remembering she’d see nothing.

_Will I remember what I look like in fifty years?_

Buffy shook that thought away before it could depress her. Thank the PTB that Cordelia didn't seem to care about cosmetics anymore. She probably looked like, well, the living dead.

The scene that greeted Buffy upon reaching the veranda that surveyed the lobby made her grin in spite of herself. Cordelia was reclined comfortably in an armchair opposite Wright, flipping through some designer magazine, though it was obvious that she wasn't really reading it.

Zack had perched faithfully at the edge of his seat and was staring at her openly, as though awaiting a command.

"They've been doin' this for about an hour," said someone to her left. "Ever since the lunch thing."

Buffy turned and saw Gunn. "Lunch thing?"

"Zack went out to get some grub. Cordy made him go to half a dozen shops to get everything she wanted." Gunn chuckled. "She's good. She's very good. They haven't even been dating all that long, and she already has the man whipped."

"Guessing she wanted a lot, huh?"

"Man, you wouldn't believe some of the things she had goin' on in her diet."

"Trust me, I think I would. I went to school with her for three years. When she wants to punish someone, she does a good job of it."

Gunn shrugged. "Wasn't nothin' Zack didn't deserve, I guess. No matter who was right, he shouldn't have gotten all wordy with her. That's just not cool."

"He was defending Spike."

"He was being a hypocrite." He shrugged again. "He was defendin' your honey, so I'll grant him that. The man has pulled a complete one-eighty since he got here. For a while, Wes and I were wonderin' if we'd be lucky enough to keep him from doin' something colossally stupid…like stakin' Spike and effectively ruining all chance of getting you out."

Buffy offered a weak smile, searching emptily for a polite way to break from the conversation so she could find Spike and make everything right again.

Fortunately, Gunn was observant enough to pick up her silent cue. "He's downstairs," he said. "In the trainin' room."

"What's he doing down there?"

Another shrug. "Just a hunch…training?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Hardy har har."

"Charles Gunn. One Man Demon Hunter, and a comedian on the side. You better hurry, though. Don't wanna be caught in the crossfire." Gunn waved to the scene below. "Trust me. It's about to go boom in a very loud way."

Buffy nodded, but he needn’t have warned her. If there was one thing she knew about the Queen C, it was to stay clear of her when she had her eye on something.

It didn't matter, though. Buffy had her own want to pursue.

It was time to make things right.

*~*~*

There was nothing quite like making a grown man squirm. And she wasn't even using her tongue.

True, it had been years since she’d found herself in a position like this and Cordelia wanted it to last. Because right now, she was enjoying the hell out of herself.

Poor Zack.

With a yawn and a stretch, she began fanning herself with the magazine. "Mmmm," she mused slowly. "It's warm in here."

The next instant, Wright sprang to his feet, traveled across the lobby and hit the AC. Afterward, he tacitly returned to his seat, perched at the ready, studying her with intent that might make other girls wiggle self-consciously. But she was not other girls.

This was all old hat. Too easy.

Cordelia waited a few minutes, flipping again through boring articles that the old her would have devoured. Then she looked up, fixing her gaze on something across the room. "You know what I could really go for…"

Zack shifted in his seat, ready to burst into action.

"A nice mochaccino…with whipped cream and chocolate shavings."

Once more, he bounded to his feet. "Two percent or skim?"

She flashed him a delighted smile. The _oh, I didn’t even see you there_ smile. The look she received, in turn, was skeptical but amused, giving off far more than he would ever let on.

"I'm feeling evil today," she informed him matter-of-factly. "Two percent. And you should really see if Wes and Gunn want something…if you're going out, that is."

He smirked at her but complied all the same.

Oh yes. She could get used to this.

*~*~*

It was dark downstairs, but her eyes were now made to see through the dark and see she did.

Spike had propped himself against the far wall opposite a rather impressive training area. A cigarette was wedged proudly between his lips, a beer bottle in the other. He arched his eyebrows when their eyes met.

"And out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, molding men." A small smile kissed Spike's lips as he drew his cigarette out of his mouth. "It’s true, love. Whatever you say about your crackpot philosophers, that one's true."

Buffy nodded, though she had no idea what she was agreeing to. "What's it mean?"

"Means you've…" There was a second's pause before a sigh tumbled from his lips. "I don't even really know how to explain it. My nature’s to be exactly what I'm _not_ now. I’m not. I haven't been who I am now…ever. Not before I was killed and definitely not in all the years after." He tilted his head and ran a hand through his hair, which was not slicked back, rather tussled in a way she found irresistible. "I’ve never known anything but one extreme or the other, sweetheart. There was never a middle ground."

Buffy gnawed on her lower lip, crossing her arms as she stepped forward. "Do you regret it?"

"No." A dry chuckle sounded through him. "Never could. I don't know real love, Buffy. I never did till I…till you came along and turned my bloody life upside down. Thought I'd had it once. You had a right time provin' me wrong."

"I didn't—"

"I know. It’s all my doing. And I don’t regret it. I never could. Nothing you've ever given me." Another sigh shattered through him, wracking his shoulders with such force that she almost thought he’d started crying, but he looked up then and his eyes were clear. "And I believe you. What you said in the alley. But I've never had it all. Ever. And with what I've taken from you, guess I can't expect it to last now, can I?"

"Spike—"

"Angel's important to you."

"Yeah." She forced herself not to blink as he flinched. "But I don't love Angel. I…I can't love him. This isn't even about that."

Buffy expelled a deep breath and crossed the room before her courage failed her. She felt the hot swell of his gaze upon her face—full and wanting. The hint of what he was about to say only made her love for him deepen.

And she was determined to prove it to him.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Spike arched an eyebrow at her but gestured to the floor all the same. “Be my bloody guest.”

"No. I meant…" Hell, action was better than words. Buffy cast her legs astride him so that she was seated in his lap, face-to-face with her lower body positioned deliciously against his. She prided herself in the low moan that whispered through his lips in response to her and scooted as close as possible so that he could not mistake her intent. "Is this all right?"

That eyebrow of his domed again. "If you can't feel how all right it is," he said, thrusting forward so that his erection rubbed her through her jeans, "then we have a problem."

A low whimper coursed through her. The sound amazed her. There were certain things he was proving her capable of without thought. Sounds, emotions, all of the above. "Agreed."

Spike smiled and stamped out his cigarette. "Good."

"We need to talk."

"I figured. I just wasn't looking forward to it, as there has never been a good conversation in the history of the world that began with those four words."

Buffy smiled and leaned forward to kiss him. "Then we're about to make history."

Spike shuddered and grabbed her hips. “Yeah?”

"Here's the thing," she said, toying with the wisps of hair collected at his nape. And suddenly words failed her. Simply looking into the ocean depth of his eyes robbed her throat and the little speech she had been reciting flew out of her head.

_Goddammit._

"The thing goes like this," she began, searching. Then paused. "The thing is—"

"Buffy, pet…you don't have to—"

"No. You really, really need to hear this." A tremble shuddered through her. "I'm just bad at saying it."

He tilted his head curiously. "Why?"

"'Cause I've never said it before." Her gaze lowered to the compact space between them. "Never really…and I've never felt…"

"Slayer…"

"Okay. For real this time. Here's the…thing…" She scowled a bit as his eyes twinkled. “Right before Angel came to kill me. That’s when I realized I loved you. And it was difficult…at the time because I wasn’t sure what it was. Or if it was real. Hell, part of me, I think, still didn’t think _you_ were real on some level. Even after.”

Spike swallowed but didn’t interrupt her.

“I did love him,” she said. “At one time. I can’t say I didn’t, but it was a stupid love. The first time—before he went all evil—it kinda came from nowhere. I mean, I guess everything’s supposed to feel life and death when you’re a teenager, and it certainly felt that way at the time. But it was sudden. One moment I hated him and the next we were just making out all the time—”

“Any reason I need to hear this?”

“I’m getting there,” Buffy promised him, then leaned in to kiss him. “The thing is, that love broke me hard. When he went bad it was…well, awful. But it was worse when he left after graduation because _that_ was Angel. The first time was Angelus, but Angel decided to throw me away too. And I didn’t realize until, well, recently just how much that messed me up. Because yeah, I jumped into bed with Parker. I tried to make things work with Riley, who I _liked_ but there was no way I could love him. He left for the right reasons. I was afraid of love. Hell, I still am. It ripped me up twice.” She paused. “So loving you kinda scares the crap out of me.”

Spike dug his fingers into her hips. “I’d never hurt you.”

“Yeah, but you can see where I’d be afraid.” Buffy shook her head. “But with Angel… Spike, I’m not sure how much of it was real. We had barely been together as a couple before he went all evil the first time, and when he came back, it was like I was trying to piece together a relationship based on something that had never existed. Heck, maybe that wasn’t even real.”

At that, her eyes went wide and her heart, dead as it was, seemed to jump. She hadn’t meant to say it, and while she knew the love she had felt for Angel had been real to her, she didn’t disagree with what she’d just said. Because there hadn’t been a rock-solid foundation to build upon once Angel had come back from the dead. They had barely been anything before then, and she’d… Well, she’d built it up so much that she’d convinced herself it was real.

"I never trusted him," Buffy continued softly, thinking out loud now. "Ever. Not like I trust my Mom and Giles, or Will when she's not playing around with spells that make all of us do something wonky." She met his eyes again. "And you. I trust you. And I get it if you can't believe me now. I wouldn't believe me, either. Things between us have never been like this."

His eyes narrowed. "That's the understatement of the sodding century."

"I know. Believe me." A sigh trembled through her when she saw she wasn't doing much to convince him. "Look, I don't know what changed it for you. I really, really don't. And despite popular belief, I wasn't exactly born yesterday. This…this _us_ thing started a long time before the…before Angelus."

He had nothing to say to that. His eyes told all the truth she needed to know.

"I'd like to say it's been mutual the whole way through. But you were always Mr. Vamp and so I kinda never ever let myself go that way, even when it would’ve been easy. Like last year after we were engaged.”

Spike arched an eyebrow. “Thought you had that bit magicked out.”

“Umm, in what world do you think I would have let Willow muck with my mind after she accidentally almost killed us all by magic?”

He shrugged. “Figured it was better than remembering snogging me.”

“The thing about that was I really liked it.” Buffy looked down when he smirked at her. “It weirded me out, actually. How much I liked it. And I pretended I didn’t because hey, that was easier. I was trying so hard to be normal—and you didn’t have a soul—”

His grip on her tightened. “Still don’t.”

“But don’t you get it? You don’t have a soul, but you’re still…” She waved at him. “Angel taught me that a soul was what made a person good. But you were there and all freaking confusing. And I know you didn’t just decide to not be evil—you did pair up with Adam last year.”

Spike tightened his jaw and looked away. “Yeah.”

“But you also did things that confused the crap out of me. Like when Giles went all Fyarl. He was a demon then. You _could_ have killed him. Instead, you helped.” She tilted her head. “Granted, you made him pay you, but if you’d wanted to hurt him, you could have. But you didn’t.”

He swallowed again but didn’t respond.

“It confused me, but I didn’t want to think about it so I didn’t,” Buffy continued. “Because then I would have had to think about things like Angel and how soulless Angel would never have helped us—ever—if he’d been chipped. He would’ve killed Giles, done whatever he could to hurt me. I wouldn’t have even tied him up and thrown him in the tub because I know he’d find a way to make me hurt. And the more you didn’t do that, the more I kinda resented you. And when you did do evil, it was like a relief. Because then I could pretend that souls are what make a person good.”

At that, Spike shook his head. “Can’t claim I’m good, love. I’m not. That’s not in me.”

“Except it is and you know it.”

“Whatever you see in me is stuff you’ve put there. I fought it tooth and bloody nail when it first happened, but—”

“I think you’re making excuses. I think it’s a bit of both.” Buffy tilted her head. “Because you helped me save the world once.”

He growled. “I left you there to die.”

“But you showed up in the first place.”

“For Dru.”

“Maybe. But you still showed up. And all that stuff last year… You know I’m right.” She licked her lips. “The point I’m trying to make is I had this idea based on someone who broke me twice—and I never stopped to question it because that would’ve made Buffy’s brain hurt and it was just easier to keep believing what I believed. I thought all that mattered was being human. But you were right, in the things you were saying before all this happened. Anya is human but she’s never done the guilt trip thing and we never expected her to for some dumb reason.” Buffy paused, drew in a breath. “Loving you scares the crap out of me because I know it’s not like it was before. I’m not basing it on something that didn’t exist and I’m not letting hormones take me away. If it fails this time, it fails on its own, not because of vampires or curses or the apocalypse. And that’s the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

"I can't believe you just said that."

"Believe it."

“You love with all you are,” he replied, cupping her cheek. “Full bloody speed ahead. You love—”

“Like you do.”

Spike hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. And that’s…in a very roundabout and overly explain-y way, what I’m trying to say. I love you. No matter what happens with Angel. This isn’t something I just decided to do and I’m not going in blind and dumb.” She blew out a breath. “So…”

The air around them fell still. A heavy, thick still. Buffy watched him, her heart in her throat. She swallowed and waited.

Then, when she couldn’t wait anymore, blurted, “Say something.”

Spike met her eyes, shaking his head softly with a small grin. "I'm trying to piece this together. Everything in the past few days has been sodding windstorm. I keep expecting to wake up or…or worse…" He looked down. "I haven't let myself think since I got word that you were gone. With before… When you let me…"

She felt heat that shouldn't exist rise to her cheeks. Vampires weren't supposed to blush, but she felt it. She felt it enough to know it was real.

“But with you waking up…not hating me…trusting me…and now this with…throwin' Angel into the mix—"

"Angel is so not in the mix."

"Buffy—"

She shook her head, determined. "He's not. I told you that I—"

"Sorry if I find that hard to believe."

"It's new. All right? That make you happy?" She exhaled deeply and rolled her eyes. "You are without a doubt the most insufferable man I've ever met."

"Thanks ever so."

"But you're the first man I've ever…loved like this. And I don't know what I have to do to convince you." That was it. Her eyes welled with tears that she did not want but similarly couldn't stop, but when she tried to look away, he captured her by the chin and tugged her back to him.

All the more reason to drive her point home.

"And you know how I know it's love, Spike? How it's different from before? You wanna know how? Because we are friends. I was never Angel's friend…and that's more important to me than you can imagine. That I can be in love with you and be your friend too. And everything on top of everything else, it scares the piss out of me. You're getting to see the side of me that no one has seen since, well…" She angrily wiped at her tears but they kept coming. "I don't wanna think about what you could do to me."

Spike jerked forward. "I'd never—"

"Yeah, I know you'd never."

"Do you?" He tugged her chin up again. "Do you really?"

"Spike, any thought I ever had about you hurting me has kinda died the second I realized it was you who came to me in my dream."

A deep silence settled around them. A silence that, as many things, had a life of its own. But before she knew it, she was speaking again.

"Do you…" She looked down. "Do you at least believe that I love you?"

Spike's grip on her tightened. "Yes." He buried his mouth in her throat, caressing the skin there with feather-light kisses. The effect sent ripples of pleasure through her. "God, yes. I can feel it. It bloody astounds me."

"Me, too."

"I believe everything, love. You have no reason to lie to me."

The smile just as easily melted into a frown. "Then—"

"I just…" He broke off and shook his head. "With everything that's happened, this is somethin' I need time to mull over. It’s bloody incredible, what you've told me. I know you mean it. I just think it’s gonna be one of those things that hits me right before I nod off. You've broken my world more times than I can sodding count. And you keep doing it. Someday it’s gonna hit me that this is real."

He had absolutely no idea how close to home those words struck.

"And this business with Angel—"

"I can't explain it,” she said. “I just…I need time."

There was a long pause. Though she felt him relax, she also knew he’d never relax all the way. No matter what she told him, a part of him would always feel inferior to Angel. She couldn’t undo that because she alone had not done it. It had been a joint effort between her and every other person in Spike’s life.

But at last, he nodded and said, "It’s all right, love. You don’t have to know anything just yet."

Buffy smiled softly and feathered a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

A bitter chuckle rose to his throat. "You don’t have to thank me for anything…ever," he told her. "I've taken enough from you that—"

"Oh, for the love of god, stop."

He froze and blinked at her.

"Stop with the pity party, Spike. Honestly. If I didn't know you were completely serious, I'd accuse you of compliment fishing. Or reassurance-fishing. Or whatever it is you'd fish for." She shook her head. "You have to stop blaming yourself."

He blinked at her again, then a small, almost shy grin spread across his face. It was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. "I’m sorry. I'll stop bein'…sorry."

A giggle arose to her lips. "Good. It's making me crazy."

"And we can't have that." Spike gently kneaded her sides with probing fingers, which was probably supposed to be sexy but all it did was trigger her ticklish nerves. When she squeaked and jumped, his eyes went wide, then turned positively evil.

"What's this?" he asked, feigning innocence. His fingers continued their attack and Buffy was suddenly thrown back, wiggling harder—and yes, enjoying the tormented look that crossed his face when she squirmed against his cock—and batting at his hands, but he was relentless.

Eventually, she managed to shove him back long enough to crawl from his lap, but she didn’t get far. He all but pounced on her, his fingers dancing up her sides and along the small of her back.

"Stop!" she begged through laughter.

"Could it be I’ve discovered the Slayer’s downfall after all this time?"

"Spike!" More giggles. "Stop!"

"Seems to me somebody’s ticklish…"

"So help me, I'm gonna—"

Spike flipped her over and favored her with a leer, continuing his assault on her belly now. "Very ticklish."

"SPIKE!"

"Mmmm. Love that, pet. Feel free to keep screaming it." He blew her a kiss, straddling her thighs for better access. "If only I'd known this a few years ago…"

Buffy was laughing so hard she could barely see him. "STOP!"

"Coulda been useful—"

"You’re.” Giggle. “So.” Gasp. “Gonna.” Squirm. “Pay.” Shriek. “For this."

"Wonder if I can sell it on the streets. Knowledge on the Slayer's weakness fetches a pretty penny."

She managed to glare at him before giggles took over again. "Like you would!"

"Give the nasties new tactics on how to bring the notorious Buffy Summers to her knees."

Buffy’s eyes widened and she managed to seize one of his offending wrists, wrenching him to a momentary standstill. "Oh," she said, suddenly in full control of herself. "I coulda sworn all it took to get me on my knees was you."

That was it. Spike stopped to stare at her in wonder, and she seized control. She closed her legs around him and leveraged her strength to flip him over so she was astride him.

There it was. That flash of cocky conceit. The same look that had once aggravated her to no end now turned her on. What was worse, he knew it.

"Gotta admire me a girl with nice strong legs," he purred, then drew his tongue over his teeth. “Gonna punish me now, I expect?”

“Oh. I’m gonna punish you.”

Buffy grinned as she lowered her hands to his chest, then to sides and unleashed a tickle assault of her own. Her victim instantly began squirming, his usually deep voice emitting a high-pitched giggle that easily rivaled her own.

"Oooh, what's this?" she demanded in a poor imitation of his voice. "Seems to me the Big Bad has a weakness."

"Buff—”

"And we know a lot of folks would be interested in taking wicked advantage of this."

Spike arched with a high-pitched shrill that touched her senses more than his ticklish jibes ever could. He was freaking adorable.

"Of course, I couldn't allow that," she informed him. "The only person allowed to take wicked advantage of you is me."

Spike’s eyes widened and his laughter died, hands seizing her wrists once more. Buffy smiled at him. The wealth of longing and the glow of love that reflected back at her was more than she could ever ask for. More than she had expected from anyone. Least of all him.

And yet, despite everything, here they were.

"I don't know how it happened, either, sweetheart," he murmured as though reading her thoughts. "It just did."

"Yeah," she agreed. "It did."

"I love you."

She nodded, trying to find her voice. "Love you too."

He smiled at her and cupped her cheek. Then his hands were in her hair, pulling her down to his mouth.

Of course, with one kiss, everything in her kind of exploded. Within seconds, they were warring with each other. Tongues dueling for dominance as teeth nipped and hands familiarized themselves with the contours of each other's bodies. Spike clutched at her desperately, drawing her as close to himself as possible without swallowing her whole. And still, it wasn't enough. Not even when he flipped her over the next second, pinning her wrists to the ground as his lips and teeth wandered—his jean-clad erection pressing at her center.

With a low moan, Spike began skating his lips down her throat, coaxing little whimpers from her with every teasing bite. He skimmed her breasts with his hands, then lower, outlining her bellybutton blindly before continuing to her hips.

It took Buffy a moment to realize that he had freed her wrists. When she felt his fingers wander over her breasts again, she seized initiative and grasped him by his butt and thrust herself against his cock, earning a long whimper for her efforts. His fingers slid under her shirt then, and while he did pay special attention to the sensitive underside of her breasts, he avoided her nipples, which really needed some love.

But with the way he grinned against her skin, she knew he knew what was doing. And the asshole was enjoying it.

A point he made clear a moment later when he pulled back and planted what had to be the most ridiculously chaste kiss on her forehead.

"You're lovely like this," he informed her.

"We…" she gasped. "We need…to…go."

"Oh, do we? Where?"

"Upstairs."

"Interesting." He kissed her again. "Why?"

"Goddammit, Spike, stop teasing me!"

He cocked a brow in turn, lowering his mouth to her skin once more and accentuating between kisses. "Or. You'll. What?"

Oh, he wanted to know, did he?

Buffy flashed him a smile that had his smirk fading in record time, then slipped a hand between them until her palm was pressed against his cock. And just like that, he gave in with a long, unintelligible moan.

"Use your imagination," she suggested, licking her lips.

He blinked at her for a few dazed seconds, nodded. "Right," he whispered. "Upstairs."

*~*~*

"How about this situation in Chechnya?" Cordelia drawled, flipping through her new reading material. "What a nightmare, huh?"

About ten minutes had passed since Wright had returned with her last inane request—a copy of the _New York Times_.

This was getting out of hand.

"Really, Cor, I don't give a fuck about Chechnya. Nuke 'em for all I care. Just tell me if I'm forgiven or not!"

"Man," Gunn said from his position at the counter. "Are you ever askin' for it? Honestly, you might as well bend over."

Cordelia nodded in agreement. "He's right. You're gonna get it, boy." Then she stopped with a frown. "Not that it because…well…ew. But you'll get some form of very unpleasant 'it.'"

"Cordy!"

"And I reiterate, 'nuke 'em'?" A flawless brow arched. "I can definitely tell who you voted for in the last election. Which is fine. I just don't date Republicans."

Another long whine tore through Wright's throat. "Cordy!"

She chuckled lightly, folded the newspaper and set it aside. She shot a speculative look to Gunn. "You think we've tormented him enough?" she mused.

Zack nodded emphatically. "Yes!"

But Gunn didn't look convinced. With a devilish gleam in his eyes, he stroked his chin. "Hmmm…I don't know. Have you resorted to manual labor?"

"Now there's an idea."

Zack’s shoulders slumped. "There's manual labor? As opposed to the going of everywhere that I've been doing since this morning?"

Cordelia smiled evilly. "Well…"

Suddenly, the door to the basement flew open in a storm of Spike with his arms full of Buffy. Their mouths were fused together, their hands grasping at all sorts of naughty places. They seemed oblivious to their surroundings, even as they paused so the Slayer could leap fully into her lover's embrace, coiling her legs around his waist and grinding against him like a porn star. They crashed against the elevator door, fumbled for access and all but tumbled inside it. When they were out of sight, silence settled over the lobby until more crashing sounds above signified a successful arrival.

It was Cordelia who broke the silence. With a sigh, she shifted slightly and located the notebook she had stored under the cushions of her sofa. "Well then," she said, flipping the pages open. "Who had Saturday at four?"

*~*~*

Buffy found herself propped against a door, her hands curled in Spike's hair as he fumbled hastily for the knob behind her. He ravaged her mouth, rumbling little whimpers into her that went straight to her clit. The feel of him against her alone outshone anything she had ever experienced. For the love of everything, it had never been like this before. Never. Just this—this—this being with him was so beyond what she had shared with any of her past lovers. No man had aroused her so effortlessly. With his denim-clad cock grinding into her, his mouth driving her mad and his hands wandering, she thought she would go insane if she didn't feel him inside her. Now.

Which required getting to the other side of the door.

She pulled away. "Spike—"

Only to be tugged back before he growled, "Tryin'."

"Hurry."

The door opened the next instant and nearly sent them both to the ground. Not that she would have minded. She didn't even remember how they had gotten up here.

But it didn't really matter. Spike had blown her world away already; it wasn't entirely impossible to her that he could alter time and space. With the way he felt against her, the murmurs he fed her mouth, logic had no merit. It was just he and she. Vampire and slayer. Man and woman. And that was all that mattered.

In seconds, he had torn off his shirt before turning his attention to hers. She thought he muttered something about seeing her in his clothing, but she wasn’t sure and she didn’t ask. Spike caught her lips in a roughly kiss before giving up on her shirt, instead ripping it down the middle to bear her body to him.

"That was my favorite shirt," he growled.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, "and you broke it."

"It’s better broken, then," he decided, then nipped at her breasts as he pushed her backward, hands rubbing rough circles at her hips. "It was keeping me from you."

When they finally reached the bed, however, Spike's urgency melted away, replaced with a look of deep awe. It was wondrous to watch—the way he pulled away with such reverence, his eyes speaking for everything his words did not. She thought it silly that his love could still surprise her, but it did. With every look, he never failed to take her breath away.

Her eyes fell back to his mouth. "So strange…" she murmured, then tugged his head to hers so she could kiss him. And god, she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of the way his lips felt on hers.

Except he pulled back and asked, "Whassat?"

She smiled and kissed him again. Nope, she wouldn’t get tired of this ever. "The whole time…right there."

"Mm?" he hummed against her lips, cupping her breasts. He flicked her nipples with his thumbs before dragging his mouth from hers. He drew a line of soft kisses down her throat then finally—finally—sucked one of her aching nipples into his mouth.

Buffy gasped and clutched his head. "You were there," she sighed. "You've always…the whole…"

"Always will be," he murmured against her skin. "I’ll never be anywhere else."

Buffy crooned, whimpering deep within her throat. "Even before… I never saw you until now. I'm sorry. Sorry it took…something like this…"

Spike frowned and looked up, though he continued teasing her nipple with his teeth. "Don't be silly," he berated. "Bygones, and all that. Besides, you said I couldn't apologize, remember? Well, you can't, either."

Oh, that was sneaky. "You're a bad man."

"Thanks ever so for the memo."

She slid her hand from his shoulder, crossed his thigh and didn’t stop until she felt the hardness of his shaft against her palm. "Mm…very bad man."

It was Spike's turn to whimper as he thrust against her touch. Then he slipped his hands to the button of her jeans. She spread her legs for him, trembling, and released a long moan when that magic hand of his danced over her mound, pried her pussy lips apart and teased her with the rough pads of his fingers.

But her moan was not nearly as loud as his. “Fuck,” he murmured, tapping her clit. "You're gonna kill me, pet."

"Now, why would I wanna do that?" Buffy replied, squeezing his clad cock.

"Oh, that's it." Spike withdrew his hand and all but tackled her, his lips again finding her face as he pried her jeans down her legs. "You're gonna scream until you're hoarse."

"Ohhh…"

"Well…the second time, at least. The first time, we'll take it slow. Nice, delicious, and slow." He grinned slyly. "Still, screaming is encouraged."

Buffy stuck her tongue out at him. "Pig."

"Fuck, I want you."

"I—"

He slipped a deft hand between her thighs and under the waistband of her panties once more, eliciting a scandalous gasp as he danced his fingers over her cunt again. He knew her like this well. Every time he touched her, she came to life in ways that killed every cliché there was to kill. She whimpered when he moaned, gasped when he dipped a finger inside her, then another, his thumb settling near her clit and drawing slow, lazy circles around it.

“I want you,” he repeated, then pulled his fingers from her and held them up so she could see the fine shine of her juices along his skin. "And you definitely want me."

Buffy released a trembling breath. "Pig."

"Oink bloody oink. You smell good enough to eat."

"Spike…"

"Think I oughta test that theory. You mind?" With that, he began to unceremoniously slide down her body.

"Spike!"

He fisted her panties, cocked his head, and pulled. They snapped clean in two, and then she was bare before him. All naked, all Buffy, in ways she hadn’t been before. Not even yesterday, when she’d had her thighs around his head and his cock in her mouth. As brilliant as that had been, this was different.

It was open and honest in ways sex for her had never been.

"What do you say?” Spike asked, hiking one of her legs over his shoulder, winking at her. “In the name of science and what all."

"SPIKE!"

"Hmm.” He lowered his face to her pussy and inhaled. “Barely touched her and she's screaming my name already. Very interesting."

"I can't believe you're already making a study off our sex life."

Spike arched an eyebrow.

"Well, okay, I can," she amended. "But…again…with the candles…and the romance…and—"

The brow quirked higher and he lowered his head again.

"You're telling me this isn't candles and romance?" he demanded, his voice making her skin hum. He traced her clit with his tongue. "Science can be romantic."

"—and if you stop doing that, I swear to GOD that I'm going to shove something very stake-shaped through your heart!"

He chuckled and she trembled again because _goddamn,_ that felt good.

"Don't worry, baby," he assured her. "I have absolutely no bloody intention of stopping."

Buffy cried out and arched back, her breathing labored—her hands clenching the bed linens with such force that she nearly ripped the fabric to shreds. For some reason—despite the fact that he’d already become very acquainted with her sex—she’d never really considered that he actually enjoyed making her come with his mouth. However, the moans and grunts rumbled from his throat left little to the imagination, as did the increasingly urgent licks his tongue took of her pussy. It was almost like this was more for him than her.

Spike was shoving her reservations and assumptions aside in a manner that made her feel guilty for having had them in the first place. With every torturous lick, every sinful nibble, every time his tongue swept her clit and prodded the entrance of her cunt, she found herself spiraling further down the whirlpool of paradise. And as if his mouth wasn't enough, his fingers stroked her to furthered ecstasy.

He was setting her skin ablaze without even trying. And it drove her absolutely out of her mind.

Her orgasm was slow but sudden, shattering her into a blazing pit of white-hot rapture. The old adage of seeing stars might have been another cliché, but it was a cliché for a reason. The pressure congregated in her belly and began to spread outward, lighting her cells on fire until they had no option but to explode. And as she began to come down, she felt him pry her pussy lips apart and close his mouth over her so swiftly that her body rushed to another peak. The cry that tore from her lips nearly choked her, and Spike’s growl  of approval only made her hotter.

She wondered, recovering, if he would always possess the ability to make her feel this way.

And as though sensing the thought, he sucked her clit into his mouth again and made her squeak as her hips jerked of their own volition. Then, chuckling, he nuzzled her inner thigh. And she knew then. She knew.

"Spike…"

That was all the persuasion he required. Dropping kisses across every inch of skin he discovered as he moved upward, Spike moved until he was where she wanted him—over her, the rough material of his jeans nudging the swollen, sensitive flesh of her sex. He captured her mouth in a powerful, demanding kiss, his tongue imploring hers, sweeping inside, wrestling her for dominance before he pulled away and turned his attention to her throat.

Buffy nearly grumbled in frustration, her hands moving to the clasp at his jeans. But again, as he had in the alley, he grasped her wrist and pulled her away.

The look he betrayed was loving but concerned. "Are you sure?"

"Sure?" she repeated, incredulous. Did she need to put it in writing or something? "Yes, of course I'm sure."

"I don't wanna hurt you. With what happened…if you're not ready for this…"

Buffy stared at him. The statement seemed ridiculous compared to what he had been promising just moments before, but it still touched her heart. With a tender smile, she touched his cheek and nodded. "I heal fast," she assured him. "Even faster now. Slayer strength plus vamp strength equals fully functional Buffy."

Spike dropped a kiss across her palm. "There's more than one way to hurt you," he whispered, caressing her face with curled fingers. "If you're not ready…"

Buffy shook her head. “I told you last night.”

“Last night was last night. I’m talking now.”

"I'm ready."

"You—"

"Spike…I wouldn't lie to you, especially about this. I'm ready."

He was still for a long minute, searching her face. Needing, imploring. Then, at last, he smiled and lowered his mouth to hers, turning his own hands to his jeans.

In seconds, they were both gloriously naked and stretched together. He poised between her legs, rubbing his length against her thigh as moans of encouragement rumbled from her throat. He returned his attention to her breasts, lavishing her with his tongue as he slid his fingers down the expanse of her abdomen until he had her pussy pressed against his palm. He teased her so effortlessly that she would have thought it an accident had he not flashed her a particularly wicked grin. The same grin that widened when her whimpers increased in volume.

Buffy arched her hips. "Spike, please!"

"I—"

She reached between them, batted his hand away from hers and fisted his cock. Yes, that was better. Spike growled and thrust into her hand, but she was done teasing. She had to have him inside her. Closing her eyes, she pressed the head of his dick against her clit, rubbed herself there for a few seconds, then slid him to where she needed him most.

"Please," she whispered.

"Buffy."

"Please."

"Buffy, look at me."

She did.

"I love you."

*~*~*

It was only when he had her smile that he nudged his cock into her. He went slow, slower than he’d ever thought he could go, his teeth gritted and his body bursting with ecstasy. A gasp clawed at his throat as she clenched her magnificent pussy around him. Tight. Oh god. Tighter and tighter. On this alone, it was nothing he had ever experienced before. The coming together of something created out of genuine love. Something shared and known.

Never. It had never been like this.

"Oh god," he moaned, sliding forward until he was seated completely within her. Buried to the hilt. And even then, he couldn't move. It took a minute to gather his bearings. The sensation of simply being inside her was almost enough to send him over the edge, and he feared losing all sense of self. "Oh my god."

"Yeah."

"You're so—”

"You too."

"Buffy…" Spike's hands returned to her face as he began to move, watching with awe-filled eyes as she gasped in pleasure. "I’ve never…never felt anything like this."

She shook her head. "I…me, either."

His head found her shoulder, his hands seeking hers. Their fingers entwined and settled over the mattress. The molding of her flesh around him was more home than he had ever experienced. The scent emanating from her sweet skin. Knowing it was her, knowing it was the woman he loved and had thought to never have…it was too much. The tempo he set was gentle, despite the need pulsing under his skin. He wanted to remember all of this, feel _all_ of this, and he would take his time. Every time his cock plunged inside her, his skin all but sizzled, and dragging away from her pussy was nothing short of torture. True, but it was the most blissful torture he had ever known, and he never wanted it to stop.

And she matched him. She matched everything. Her eyes shining and her mouth rounding as tiny gasps and mewls spilled from her, lighting his every nerve ending. Her fingers tightened around his as she lifted her hips to recapture his cock every time he pulled away. Then she broke her hands free and entwined her arms around his throat to bring his mouth to hers.

Their kiss was slow but demanding. When he broke away to lick his way to her breasts, laving her nipples with his tongue—making sure to give equal attention to both—she forced her head against the pillows and squeezed him with muscles he hadn’t known existed. A long strangled moan fell from his lips.

The next instant, Spike had Buffy's legs around his waist and her hands pinned to the mattress once more.

“Fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmured as he sank back inside her. “Knew you would be. Bloody knew it.”

Buffy hissed a deep breath. “You too.”

“Tell me how it feels.”

“I can’t.” She blinked and there were tears in her eyes. His heart twisted. “Just…”

“Want me to tell you how you feel, then?” He bit down on her shoulder with blunt teeth as his cock slid back inside her. She whimpered and he felt her nod. “Like home. Tight, wet. Gripping me so good. You feel like home.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “That’s it.”

Spike dragged his lips up her throat and kissed her again, his thrusts becoming more demanding, his mouth there to swallow the sharp little gasps that spilled from her lips. Fuck, he loved her like this—and though he’d known that he would, there was a difference between knowing and seeing and feeling. Her beautiful face contorted with pleasure—pleasure he gave her—bloody well undid him. There were times that he reckoned his heart ought to start beating again. Every taste new. Every sensation treasured. Everything was more than he should be able to survive.

They were pushing each over that threshold. Always had.

Right from the bloody beginning.

A muffled sob rumbled from her lips as his cock drove deeper still, her pussy squeezing him to new life. "Spike, please…"

He grinned. "Something you want, sweetheart?"

And that was another thing. He could switch from sensual to teasing and it felt right. That had never happened to him before. It was always one extreme or the other.

"Now. Please? Now. Now now now now."

He reached between them with one hand as he slipped out of her, took the base of his cock and began teasing the warm, soaked slit of her pussy. "Such impatience."

"You…ass!"

He frowned at her with mock ignorance. "Well, we could try, I guess—"

"SPIKE!"

With a chuckle, he positioned himself back where he wanted to be, then hooked a hand under her knee and shifted it back until her leg was over his shoulder before sliding back into her. A gasp of surprise shuddered through her and her cunt squeezed him so tight he thought he might dust on the spot.

"Oohhh," he purred, voice choked. "You liked that."

Buffy nodded emphatically, a sob of pleasure rumbling through her lips.

Spike smiled, brushed damp locks of golden hair from her forehead. "That better, sweetheart?"

"Good!" she moaned, almost unintelligible. "Spike good!"

"Well, I've reduced you to Cave Buffy…" He drew a sharp breath, finally breaking a bit and driving into her harder. Not the brutal fuck part of him wanted, but slow and fucking divine. Spike had rarely experienced sex like this. While Dru had been happy to have him call the shots, she had seldom wanted soft and tender. And the women who had filled his bed since she’d left him—well, he hadn’t much cared. Not until now. This simple lovemaking was something he would never, ever take for granted. "Guess that means somethin'."

The Slayer's hands were free again. She wrapped them around his forearms, nails digging trenches deep enough to draw blood. "Spike…"

He dipped his head, brushing a reverent kiss against her throat where her pulse would have been, attentions honing. The movement caused her further back into the pillows, and a strangled cry escaped her. Then he had to feel her. Squeezing his cock as she came all over him, as those muscles sent him over. He needed it now. And he knew she was close, but she was also holding on, and he needed her to let go.

So he slipped a hand between them until his finger was over her clit.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he stroked her. “I love you, Buffy.”

She hissed in a deep breath, and it was over. The second Spike sensed she was falling over the edge, he allowed his fangs to burst into his mouth before he nuzzled her beautiful, sweat-laced throat. Then he sank those fangs into her, and lost what was left of his control. His hips jerked and his cock began to pulse, and he was spilling inside her with abandon as those amazing muscles of hers spasmed around him.

He wanted to claim her. Wanted to bind her to him for all eternity. Wanted that promise in the way that no other had ever allowed him. But he would not without talking with her about it first. So instead of saying the word, he retracted his fangs with more of the same, licked the small wound closed and pulled her with him as he tumbled onto his side.

He was careful not to pull out of her pussy. If he had his way, he never would again.

For long minutes, they were still, her body trembling against his. Spike smiled gently and reined her into him. This was his forever, and he was never giving her up.

"Spike?"

"Mmm?"

"You weren't kidding when you said 'second time'…were you?"

He forced his eyes wedged open and studied her face for a long minute before his own broke out into a wide, almost mischievous smile.

"Oh, baby…" Spike rolled her onto her back, his cock hard again just at the need on her face. She gasped when he plunged deeper inside her, eyes wide. "You're not goin' anywhere," he promised.

"Already?"

A chuckle sounded through his body. If she wasn't used to blokes with stamina, she was in for a rude awakening. He had waited too long for this to quench his thirst to be anywhere near done. There were months and—if he wanted to be perfectly honest—years of fantasies to exorcise. Oh no. They weren't anywhere near finished.

However, he decided not to overwhelm her. Not yet. "You better bloody believe it."

Buffy released a long, heady sigh, then wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down for a kiss. “Make me,” she said.

And his heart about burst.

This was it. This was what people, historians, philosophers, and all those other wankers had been talking about for centuries. The proverbial _it_ that one only recognized when they had it. He had thought he’d had it before, but what she gave him shoved everything else aside.

This— _she—_ was it.

And he would never let go.


	43. Tub on a Flowered Mat

A cool breath caressed her throat and Buffy’s eyes fluttered open. The first thing she saw was a crown of platinum hair. Spike had buried his face in the crook of her neck, his arm around her waist, his chest flush against her breasts. Her own arm had sneaked under his to drape over his abdomen. She was well and thoroughly snuggled. And she’d never been one to snuggle.

But damn, a girl could get used to this.

It didn’t take long for last night to come rushing back, and she couldn’t help but squirm.

Because last night…

They had done things beyond the reaches of her admittedly modest imagination. Things she had long ago decided she would _never_ do. Things she had never heard of. Things she was sure he’d invented on the fly.

Buffy pressed her lips together. It would be a miracle if she could even look at him today. And that was strange because she had never been embarrassed about her sex life. Well…okay. She had been embarrassed for a while that she didn’t have one. And that thing with Parker had embarrassed her, but not because of the sex itself, rather for how he’d treated her. When it came to plain ole sex, she’d thought she was rather liberal.

But last night…yeah, she’d been a wild woman. And that shook her.

Spike shook her, but in a really delicious way.

And he was waking up.

_Oh. Holy. Jesus._

Buffy tensed, impossibly nervous as he yawned against her throat and blinked. She recognized the instant he became aware of her. The instant he remembered everything they had shared the night before. And, while she was prepared to sink into the mattress until there was no more Buffy, she found her worries banished when his eyes found hers, full of sleepy adoration.

There was nothing to be ashamed of. Not with him.

“Mornin’,” he purred and dropped a kiss on her collarbone.

“Afternoon,” she corrected. “And sorry.”

“What for?”

“Waking you up by staring.”

Spike smiled his gorgeous dimpled smile and caressed her mouth with his. “I can think of much worse things.”

A giggle touched her lips. “Such as?”

The second the question left her lips, she regretted it, because it carried with it reminders of the many worse things that she had experienced. And she knew, from the look in his eyes, that he was thinking the same. Still, she was determined that what had happened at Wolfram and Hart would not affect her afterglow, so she shook her head and kissed his cheek to bring him back to her.

It worked. In a blink, Spike was back to his lazy playfulness. “Slow and bloody castration. I’d call that worse.”

Buffy made a face. “Gross.”

He shrugged again. “You had to ask.”

“I did at that.”

“How you feelin’?”

She narrowed her gaze. “Is that a loaded question?”

“No,” Spike replied. “A loaded question would be, ‘what would you do if I were to—’”

She released a squeak and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t. I believe you.”

He nipped at her fingers, grinning. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Trust me, I knew what you were gonna say.”

Spike chuckled, his eyes dancing. “How are you feelin’?” he asked again softly.

Buffy tilted her head, considering. “Well rested?”

“Is that all?”

“Very happy?”

A completely disarming, cute-as-hell shy smile crossed his lips before he leaned toward her to nibble on hers. “Me, too.”

Yeah, she could tell. Buffy aimed a pointed look south, where the outline of his thick cock was prominent against the covers. “I can see that. Honestly, Spike…”

He chuckled, shifting to sit up. “I don’t think I ever wanna leave this room again.”

“Second that notion.” She wrinkled her nose. “Though I am kinda feeling sticky.”

He looked at her with interest. “Sticky, eh?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“What kind of sticky?”

“I swear—”

Spike slipped a hand beneath the blankets and cupped her pussy which, yes, apparently also lacked an off-switch. “Ohh, yeah,” he purred, running a finger up and down her slit. “Very sticky. Think I oughta clean you up?”

“I don’t think anything that you and I do in this bed will result in either one of us being clean.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Spike replied and pulled away. “Come on, love. Lemme draw you a bath.”

She snorted. “Yeah. And that’s gonna help a lot.”

Spike flashed her a look of pure innocence. “Just for you.”

“Ah. One of those baths.”

He mock-gaped at her. “You have a dirty mind.”

“ _Me?_ I’m the one with the dirty mind?”

“Yeah. I better watch out, or you’ll sully my virtue.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Let’s Try Something I Can’t Even Spell, I—”

“Oh, feisty.” Spike flashed her a devious grin.

Damn, he hadn’t been lying. He looked so… _happy_. She didn’t believe she had ever seen him happy.

 _No,_ she corrected herself. During Willow’s ‘Will Be Done’ spell, he had been downright jubilant. He had smiled at her. He had giddily expressed his hopes for the future. He had gotten along with her friends. He had been happy then.

And if she wanted to be terribly honest, so had she. She had been happier under the influence of magic than any of the days preceding or following. Until now.

 _Getting killed made me feel alive for the very first time,_ he had said.

He was right.

Now there was a frightening thought. Frightening but poetic. As a slayer, the only time she got to live was after she died. Talk about irony.

“Buffy?”

She shook her head and jerked herself back to the present. With a small smile, she nodded and rose to her feet, and wiggled as he raked his gaze down her body. He had seen everything there was to see—and done more than that—but the way he looked at her was positively sinful. “Yeah,” she replied. “Bath time.”

Spike grinned and pulled on a pair of sweats, which made her pout because yes, she had been enjoying the view. Then he seized her by the arm and led her to the bathroom.

“Cordy lent me some of her poncy smellin’ bubble stuff,” Spike offered, leaning over the edge of the tub and seizing the first container that met his fingers. “And when I say _lent_ , I mean for you.”

Buffy grinned. “Of course.”

“I don’t really fancy smellin’ like lavender all day.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a nice smell.”

He smirked and began drawing the bath, then dumped in what had to be half the bottle’s contents. The tub itself was a bronze antique like something snatched right out of a 1950s movie set. She had never seen one and suddenly felt her stomach clench with the most ridiculous anticipation. Everything with Spike seemed heightened and exciting.

Perhaps that was the _love_ part.

“All right,” he said, tossing the bottle aside after securing the cap in place. “In you go.”

Buffy arched a brow.

“What?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “I think I want you in there with me.”

“I thought you wanted to desticky yourself.”

“We can do that, too.”

He considered her for a long moment, hunger burning his eyes, but shook his head and grinned. “There’s plenty of time for that, sweetheart,” he promised. “Come on. In with you.”

“Bossy.”

He nipped at her lips. “You love it.”

In this case, she wouldn’t argue. Buffy helped herself into the tub, then sank back with a groan of approval into a cushion of foamy bubbles. “Mmmm,” she mused. “You draw a wicked bath.”

“Thanks, love. I try.”

She peeked her eyes open after a minute. Spike had situated himself onto the counter and was studying her with a small smile. God, it was frightening how quickly he had become important to her, especially after so long being enemies. Now they had been through hell and back together. Hell and back, and there was still much to face. So much waiting for them.

Buffy exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus. “What do you want to do?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “About what?”

“You know about what.”

At that, he looked down. “I’m really the wrong person to be asking,” he replied. “I’m a little biased.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Jessica Fletcher, everyone in this building is a little biased. Even those who don’t know Angel.”

A small smile played upon Spike’s lips. “Zangy’s a loyal bloke.”

“Loyal to you.”

“And Cordy and the tyke.” When she frowned, he held up his hand to signify a person of small stature. “You saw her the other day. The girlie. Rosalie. That’s Zangy’s daughter.”

“Ah. The one that makes him play with Barbies?”

Spike grinned. “I’m willing to bet he secretly enjoys it,” he observed. “Trust me, you get to know Zangy, you know he’s not the kind of bloke that would do something he doesn’t like.”

Buffy chuckled and stuck out an arm to lather. “You speak as though it’s a crime to enjoy playing with your daughter.”

“Given her past, it’s a small wonder that she’s interested in Barbies at all.”

“Doesn’t she have that older sister type hanging around? The wannabe slayer?”

“Nikki.” Spike nodded. “Her aunt. Trust me, she’s even less likely than Zangy to have introduced the kid to the wonderful world of all things frilly. Who bloody well knows?”

“I’m thinking about inviting him to come back with us.”

There was a still pause. “Zangy? In Sunnydale?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, why not? He’s your friend and after this Darla business is over—never tell me the full story there, because, well, blech—he can come conscience-free and help us beat the baddies. Besides…you two obviously mean a lot to each other.”

Spike tilted his head.

“Well, you do!”

“I don’t think he’d go for it, pet.”

“Why not?”

“Well, Zangy’s not liable to settle down,” he replied with a shrug. “And even if he did, I’d wager it’d be close to Cordelia. They’ve grown bloody close.” A sigh broke through his body. “Truth be told, I’m not too wild about going back as it is.”

Buffy blinked slowly, panic hitting her insides. “I—”

“I’m coming, love,” Spike said. “You better bloody well believe it. I’m not letting you get outta my sight again.” He exhaled deeply. “It’s just the everything else that comes with it. You saw the way Glenda reacted to us. None of the rest of your Scoobies are gonna be too thrilled with the way things have gone since—”

“They’ll deal.”

“I—”

“I don’t care what they think.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Yeah,” he retorted, “you do. They’re your mates. And they happen to be very anti-vampire.”

“Well, yeah. And hello, me vampire.”

“You’re the Slayer. You’re also the owner of a shiny soul.”

“Spike, I don’t care what they think. Maybe I would have at one point…but I really don’t care.” Buffy shook her head. “I love you, and if they love me, they’re gonna have to accept that.”

“They’re gonna think I put some wonky mojo on you.”

“Well, they’ll be wrong.”

“Or that you’re just going through the Stockholm Syndrome.”

She frowned. “The what-a syndrome?”

He chuckled. “They’ll think it’s because I came after you and got you away from Angelus.”

“That was just a nudge.”

Spike held up a hand. “Regardless, they’re not gonna like it, pet. And yeah, they might get used to it and what all…I just prefer it here. With the Angel Wanker White Hats. They treat me like one of their own without the sodding guilt trip.”

“I’ve noticed that you act mostly human around them.”

He smirked. “I have my human moments.”

“I was kidding.”

“Yeah. You’re a riot.”

“I try my best.” Buffy sighed and leaned back, stretching her arms to either side of the tub. “Well…I don’t really like Los Angeles. Though I don’t like the Hellmouth, either. Besides, there’s still Glory to consider—”

“Relax, pet. I’m not suggesting we move up here. You’d hate being away from the Scoobies, and I’d hate being away from you, so sod that idea.” He shrugged, crossed his arms. “But there might be weekend visits. Perhaps daily visits, depending on how much Harris pisses me off.”

“You’d really drive up here every day?”

“No. I’m just saying.”

Buffy cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re all talk?”

He stared at her for a long minute before grinning. “Not all talk, love,” he purred. “You found out that much last night.”

“And I reiterate, pig.”

“You love it.”

She gestured at the tub. “You sure you won’t come in?”

“You just got through destickifyin’ yourself,” he observed. “That’d be a bloody waste of bubble bath, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, fine.” She pouted for a few seconds before caving with a long sigh. “Will you hand me a towel, then?”

His nodded, hopped down from the counter and turned to the cabinets. The instant he presented her with his back, Buffy jolted out of the tub, seized him around the waist, and yanked him back down with her so that his back was pressed against her breasts.

“Bloody hell,” he groused, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. He looked up for a second, then sighed and rested his head against her shoulder. “I should’ve known you were gonna do something like that.”

“Well, you were being difficult.”

“Minx.”

“And here I thought you’d be happy that I can’t seem to keep my hands off you.”

He shifted slightly so he could look at her, and she saw his eyes twinkling. “I’m happy, love. Very, very happy. Now let me up.”

Immediately, Buffy clamped her arms clamped around him in an exercise of strength that was frankly not fair, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted him right where he was. “I think,” she mused, “that I wanna see how happy you are.”

Spike raised a hand to stop her as she stretched her fingers toward the waistband of his sweats. While his eyes had done nothing but speak promises of love and a desire to continue what they had started last night, he seemed otherwise intent to keep to business now, which surprised her. Maybe he just really needed to get this stuff with Angel well and truly behind them.

That was sentiment she could appreciate, but Buffy desperately wanted a little more time before they returned to the reality that lurked downstairs. Before she had to sit down and have a conversation with her conscience. Before she had to consider the inevitable return to the home that waited for them and the friends who might shun her.

The friends who would blame and reject Spike for his part in everything that had occurred.

“No,” she breathed into his ear. “Please.”

That was all it took. Spike released a strangled whimper and nodded hard. “Fuck, I’m trying to be good here.”

“Why?”

“Bloody good question, that. Just thought it…thought it was something I needed to do. That you’d want me to do.”

“Sometimes I might,” she replied, and dropped her mouth to his cheek. “But you can read what I’m telling you. What does it feel like I’m telling you?”

“That the bath was an excuse to shag.”

“Ding ding.”

“And I misread it.”

“Adorably so, yes.” Buffy ran her hand down his chest, shivering when his lips brushed her inner arm. “You don’t need to play like somebody else for me. I just want you to be yourself. ’Cause you’re the guy I fell in love with.”

Spike inhaled deeply, arching his hips when her fingers slipped under the waistband of his soapsud-laced sweats.

“Buffy—”

“Shh. Let me play.”

Another long whimper scratched at his throat. “I’ll let you do anything.”

She grinned and nibbled on his ear. “Promises.”

Her fingers circled the base of his erection, earning another hard gasp. She made a low sound of approval, sliding her other hand sliding down his arm. “Well,” she said softly, squeezing his dick. “You are happy.”

Spike nodded. “Bloody ecstatic.”

She grinned as she began pumping him, her eyes set on what she was doing. Because damn, the man had a pretty cock, and that was not a thought she’d had—ever. And the sight of her hand moving up and down that length had her legs trembling and her chest filling with sensations she still didn’t entirely understand. Especially when Spike began whimpering and shifting against her.

“I love the way you feel,” she said, hardly aware she was speaking. Her other hand decided it wanted to play too, and came around to cup his balls, earning a sharp hiss.

“I love the way you feel, feelin’ me,” he moaned in turn. “God…you…Buffy…”

“What do you think we should do?”

Spike heaved several deep breaths, then gave his head a shake. “Wh-what?”

“Well,” she replied with an innocent shrug. “You wanted to talk.”

Another pause.

“You expect me to talk like this?”

“Should I not?”

Spike moaned and thrust himself into her hand. “Buffy…”

She squeezed him, felt him tremble, and did again, her eyes fixed on the tip of his erect penis. She’d never really watched a man ejaculate before and she found, now, she desperately wanted to.

No, that wasn’t it. She wanted to watch _Spike_ come. She wanted to see him lose control.

“It helps take my mind off things,” she replied. “Gives me…strength.”

“While making me compliant as a bloody kitten.” His hands found purchase on her knees, his grip tight as he thrust began thrusting in earnest. “Fuck, Buffy…what are you doing to me?”

She trembled. “Bad?”

“God no. Don’t stop.”

“Not planning on it,” she replied, relaxing. “I just thought…maybe if I talked to you like this, you’d be a little less biased.”

“Minx.”

“You’ve called me that already.”

“What can I say? It’s true.” Spike drew in a labored breath. “You’ve got the most incredible hands.”

“Why, thank you. I’ve grown rather fond of them, myself.”

She settled her thumb at his cockhead and, rather than sweeping back, massaged him directly with small, sensuous circles while her other hand abandoned his testicles to resume pumping and squeezing his shaft.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Buffy grinned, her eyes fixed on what she was doing, even as she bent forward to find his throat. And she wasn’t sure what prompted her to do it, but it felt natural and right, so when her fangs burst into her mouth, she followed instinct and slid them into his flesh.

And Spike came undone. He shuddered violently, squeezing her knees, a hoarse, damn near reverent cry tearing through him, and white ropes of semen erupted from his cock. Buffy watched, fascinated, continuing to stroke, wanting to drag this out as long as possible. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub again, but she didn’t care. Her entire world had centered on the vampire between her legs.

At last, she drew back, her fangs leaving his throat. She licked up his blood, which she still thought should have disgusted her but didn’t. Then she swiped a bit of his cum onto her finger and brought it to her mouth.

“Mmm.”

“Oh god.” Spike’s cock didn’t get a chance to deflate. “Buffy…”

“Mmm,” she said again, a hard shudder running through her. She felt entirely female in that moment in ways she never had, and it was amazing. “I’ve made a mess.”

Spike sat forward and twisted at last so he could see her, his face slack with shock and lust and so much love she thought she might burst.

“And if we want to follow this through to conclusion,” Buffy continued, grinning, “we need to clean you up. And hey! We’re in the bath. Already a step in the positive, don’cha think?”

He stared at her for a long, moment.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

“You are,” Spike said, “without a doubt, the most shameless, sauciest girl I’ve ever come across.”

“Actually, honey, you came on yourself. Not on me.”

His eyes darkened. “We can fix that.”

Buffy grinned and shivered. “And to think, I was nervous about facing you when I woke up.”

Spike blinked at that and pulled back a bit. “Nervous?”

“Because of the endless and inventive sexcapades that was last night.” Even as she spoke, she could feel the should-be-nonexistent heat rise to her cheeks. “I don’t know what I thought, but I was nervous. I don’t have the most stellar track record for mornings after… But then you woke up and everything was all right.”

A slow, seductive smile crossed his face, and he brushed a kiss across her nose. “You’re adorable.”

“Well, I try.”

Something prodded the needy flesh of her sex. Buffy’s eyes went wide and she arched against him. Spike grinned and slipped those two, wandering fingers inside her, his thumb settling over her clit.

“Mmm,” he murmured, nuzzling her throat. “You’re also slippery.”

“Uhhh…”

“Wonder if that’s you or the water.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Think I better go check.”

As he began to descend, nibbling teasing lovebites along the way, she managed to find her voice and pounced before it could abandon her again. “Another…one…of your…scientific…observations?”

He winked. “You catch on fast.”

That was the last thing he said before his head disappeared beneath the water. But then, words were highly overrated.

*~*~*

“How long have they been up there?”

Cordelia glanced up from her notepad, phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. Tara was sitting on one of the plush sofas in the foyer and had spent the past half hour or so glancing nervously to the veranda. Thus far, the witch had been incredibly patient, which was more than Cordelia could say for herself. However, no one in their right mind was about to approach the vampires’ love nest. The entire floor had practically been labeled as off limits.

“A long ass time,” Gunn replied from where he was sprawled on the opposite settee. “What’d you say, Cordy? More than twenty-four hours?”

She nodded. “Easily.” Then returned her attention to the phone. “Okay. So you’re taking her over to her place? Well, I guess you can bring her here if…oh no, that’s definitely better. Very. I think Zack’s a second away from making Anti-Kate Campaign Posters. Oh, lighten up. Yeah. Okay. I’ll call Wes and have him bring something for you, too. Oh come on. That’s what mortal frenemies are for, right? Right. Later. Buhbye.”

“He’s comin’?” Gunn asked after she hung up.

“Yeah. It seems fair. He’s helped us as much as he could.” Cordelia shrugged. “Might as well let him in on it.”

“Wh-where is Zack?” Tara asked.

“He chaperoned Nikki and Rosalie to the cinema, even though I didn’t think it was necessary.” When Gunn looked skeptical, Cordelia’s eyes widened. “Well, you’ve seen the way she handles herself. Besides, the theater’s right around the corner.”

“And we have three very scary vamps running around out there,” Gunn replied.

“And also a child to entertain, two vampires upstairs who are going to be chaffing like nobody’s business and a big blubbering baby who can’t admit when he’s wrong.” Cordelia sighed emphatically. “It’s the hard-knock life. Anyway, the last I knew, the plan was to get them there, then meet Wes at Caritas and possibly look at the library again for that girl I saw in my vision. They’ll swing by to walk the girls home and pick up some grub along the way.” She released another deep breath and shook her head. “I tell yah, it’s gonna be worth it for this thing to be over just so we can concentrate on work as per norm. The girl in my vision didn’t seem to be of the type that could just…wait for us to get to her, you know?”

Gunn glanced to the upper level. “They deserve this, though.”

“Oh, I agree. I totally agree.”

“So w-we shouldn’t…” Tara gestured emphatically. “You know…get them?”

Cordelia and Gunn exchanged an amused glance. “Um, no.”

“But—”

“I dunno about you,” Gunn drawled, “but I do not wanna be the person who interrupts them while they’re…” He gestured. “They gotta come down eventually. Blood fridge is down here.”

“And we will drag them out if it comes to it. Eventually. When the options are take a break from sex or starve to death.” Cordelia shook her head. “These last few days have been hell on Spike and after what Buffy went through… They deserve one friggin’ day off. It’s no big.”

“Besides,” Gunn added, “until she makes her decision about Angel, we’re sitting ducks.”

Cordelia frowned. “Ummm, yeah. About that. Wes’s decree that the full of our friend’s fate being left in the hands of someone he nearly and did torture to death? Not a likin’ that. I say we ensoul him now.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Yeah, it is. You know Buffy’s not gonna want him back.”

“No, we don’t know that,” he replied. “And even so, who’re we to say? After what he did, maybe he doesn’t deserve to be back.”

Tara bit her lip, uncertain.

“What happened to him wasn’t his fault, Gunn,” Cordelia spat, eyes wide. “I can’t believe you. You’re his friend. You should—”

“Look, C, I get it. Angel has a clause. Angel’s special. Angel’s different. Angel had a soul, and therefore we oughta cut him some slack. Angel is my friend. Sort of. We have an understandin’. And that’s somethin’ that we oughta take into consideration before even mentionin’ soulin’ his ass up, all right?” He released a deep breath and shook his head. “What I don’t get is the soul clause. If we soul him up, what’s to stop us from soulin’ every vamp we come across up? Then we’d have a society of Undead Americans runnin’ around, ‘causin’ all kinds of hell.”

Cordelia shook her head slowly. “That’s so off-scale.”

“Is it? How? If it works for Angel, why not everyone else? What makes him so special, other than the fact that he’s sort’ve our boss?”

“And this is the reason we should stake him? Because it’s not fair to the others?”

Gunn reeled. “Okay, now you’re just putting words in my mouth. I’m just sayin’ that if Angel was just another vamp, we’d kill him. Especially with what he’s done.”

“But he’s not—”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s not. He’s Angel. Our boss. I get it, O Hypocritical One.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes and turned to Tara. “Hey. You’ve talked to the others, right? Giles and Xander and all them?”

Tara pressed her lips together and nodded. “I called Willow the first night…t-to tell her that Buffy was all right.” She glanced down. “Spike had forgotten to call Mr. Giles.”

Cordelia smiled softly. “It’s been hectic around here. And Spike was all worried there at the beginning that Buffy would hate him because she was suddenly a vampire.” She shook her head. “When he first got here, he was like Zombie Spike. He wouldn’t leave her bedside for anything. And then after…anyway. Did Willow tell you anything about what she thinks should be done as far as reensouling Angel?”

“Willow doesn’t know that Buffy was turned. None of them do.”

Gunn frowned. “You didn’t tell them?”

Tara shook her head. “I didn’t think it was my place.”

“Well,” Cordelia prompted, “regardless, what does Willow think about reensouling Angel?”

Tara shrugged. “I—um. We took a poll before I left. Giles, Willow, and me all thought that it was for the best. Of course, we thought Buffy was still with him at the time. But Willow didn’t tell me anything about having changed her mind, even though she’s back now.” She glanced down. “Xander wanted him dead.”

Cordelia snickered. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“So did Dawnie. Anya said she didn’t care. And Joyce is with the Council’s physicians. But we put wards around her room…to guard her from Glory.” She looked up again. “They’re taking care of her tumor.”

“Joyce is sick?”

“They think she’ll be okay now. Unless something… They think she’ll be okay.” Tara tossed another apprehensive glance upstairs. “Are you sure we shouldn’t check on them? Something might’ve happened—”

“No,” Gunn and Cordelia said together.

“But—”

“No.” Cordelia shuddered. “Spike walked in on me once, and I’m really, really not looking to return the favor.”

Gunn snickered. “He walked in on you and Zack doing the nasty?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“He did, didn’t he? You and Wright gave Evil Dead a free—”

“One more word and I’ll have the witch turn you into a newt.”

Gunn immediately sobered. “You can do that?” he demanded Tara.

Cordelia nodded emphatically. It wasn’t difficult to catch on.

“Oh, yeah,” Tara replied, sitting up a little straighter, her eyes serious. “But something might go wrong, and there’s no telling if we could turn you back. Magic’s unpredictable that way.”

Gunn was effectively silenced, and Cordelia mouthed a _thank you_ when he wasn’t looking.

*~*~*

The floor was covered in puddles of water and they had somehow managed to flip to the opposite side of the tub. She held onto his shoulders for balance that she didn’t need, his own having found at her hips as she rose and fell on his cock in slow, languid strokes.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, brushing damp locks of hair form her face before cupping her cheek.

She smiled at him and earned his smile back, and for about the millionth time, thought she must just explode with happiness. It felt so strange, like something out of someone else’s life, especially compared to where she’d been emotionally just a couple days ago, and physically days before that. But Spike’s eyes shone with love and awe and made her feel damn near indestructible.

Trembling, Spike slipped his hand from her cheek to beneath the water, and then she felt him there, slipping over her clit so each time her pussy took him in, the pads of his fingers brushed against her. And that was it. Her body tensed in a way she was becoming familiar with, and she tumbled over the edge, spasming hard and triggering his release. He kissed her as he jerked and spilled inside her, then pulled her back onto his chest as he reclined against the tub’s edge, panting.

Buffy lay there in her happy place for what felt like an eternity, panting as his hands skated over her back and drew her hair away from her shoulders. He was so gentle—so different than she’d thought he’d be.

But then he wasn’t gentle, either. After she’d told him he didn’t always need to be—after she’d promised she wouldn’t break if he lost control—Spike had shown her just how rough he could make it. Last night he’d pounded into her from behind, his hand wrapped around her hair, his balls slapping her cunt each time he’d plunged inside. Then at one point, as she’d gotten up to get some water—though she’d known she craved blood; she hadn’t been willing to leave the room—he’d pressed her against the wall and fucked her hard and good, then whipped her around, commanded that she wrap her legs around his waist, and done it again.

Then he’d taken her into his arms, carted her to the bed, and buried his face between her thighs, licking her where she’d been swollen and somewhat aching until the ache manifested into need.

Yeah, Spike was different than she’d thought he’d be. She’d expected the guy who liked rough sex.

She hadn’t expected the guy who held her to his chest, breathing hard and massaging her back after giving her the _why-am-I-even-counting_ orgasm in a twenty-four hour period.

It hadn’t been that long ago since Buffy had thought it impossible to ever want this and mean it. Even before what had happened at Wolfram and Hart, but especially then. She remembered all too well the strain on her arms from where the chains had held her, the way Angelus had leered and grinned every time he violated her body. What had happened there should have made her hate intimacy. And maybe it would have in another life. She didn’t know.

The thing about it, standing on this side of the experience, was the knowledge that it had been necessary to get her where she was now. And she didn’t know if she liked what that said about her.

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. There was so much out there that she would never have again, but even more that Angel wouldn’t. Should Angel be brought back, she knew his guilt might actually kill him. Because she did believe that he loved her—always had, which was why his refusal to stay had hurt so much. And if that guy, the guy who loved her, had to feel what he’d done to her…

That would destroy him.

And a small part of Buffy thought, _Good._

Angelus could have killed her at any time. He would have eventually—that she knew. Whether from cutting her too deep to heal or just raping her to death, she would have eventually lost. Every scream that she had kept inside had nearly torn her vocals out. She was honestly amazed that she could still cry now, because the tears he’d coaxed from her had been a different breed, making all other sobfests of her life feel small and inconsequential. And he had coaxed those tears with nothing more than a look. A few words here and there of what he intended to do with her. To her. Over and over again. Just because he wanted to. Because it was fun. Because if he could get her to scream, that would make his day.

Buffy drew in a deep breath, hardly aware of the way Spike’s arms tightened around her, as though he knew what she was thinking. And something occurred to her for the first time. Something rudimentary, but something she needed to recognize all the same.

She was hurt.

But even more than that, she was angry.

Hell, she was furious. Angel or Angelus, it didn’t matter. Her body, though healed, still bore the echoes of torment. She couldn’t stand it. The stink of his impression upon her.

Angelus had taken blood from her, and he owed it back. Buffy had never considered herself a person bent on vengeance, and while she was still far and away from seizing what she knew she had right to claim, there was something else there. Something that was hers.

She must have tensed, for Spike squeezed her tighter in turn. “Buffy?” he murmured softly, rubbing small, soothing circles into her back. “What’s the matter?”

“I know what I want to do.”

He paused. “You do?”

“Yeah.” She pulled back and kissed him softly, enjoying the way he shivered. It amazed her that the slightest touch could have such an affect him. She hoped that never changed. “I love you, you know.”

A gorgeous smile swept his features. “Yeah…”

“Okay.” Buffy kissed him again and flexed her _bloody fucking amazing pussy_ —his words—around his cock, which hardened again in no time at all. “I tell you, you get a reward for being quiet, okay?”

“What kinda reward?” Spike hissed, arching into her.

She planted a kiss on the hollow of his throat. “The best kind. Just don’t interrupt me—despite what I say—until I’m done.”

“With the talking or the reward?”

“Both.”

*~*~*

An indeterminate amount of time later, Spike boomed onto the veranda, every inch of him was bursting with life—the floor felt new under his feet. And for everything good and pure in the world, his mood had never been better.

Whatever fears he’d harbored about Angel had been thoroughly eradicated. That alone seemed a bloody miracle. But what she’d said made sense. Granted, he’d been balls deep inside her at the time, so she might have announced she was running for Congress and he’d just have nodded and agreed and asked her to squeeze him a little tighter before he started recruiting canvassers.

Spike grinned, shaking his head. He had just had the most incredible night—and day—of his life. And he was in a mood to share. So he decided to announce it to his mates. An entire day had passed since he’d last seen any of them, after all, and they deserved to know the good news.

Which he gave them in style.

 _“Oh what a beautiful mornin’!”_ he sang loudly as he looked over the railing, drawing everyone’s attention to him. _“Oh what a beautiful day! I gotta beautiful feelin’, everything’s goin’ my way!”_

“Hey, Casanova!” Cordy shouted in turn, grinning like a loon. “Do you have any earthly idea what time it is? Here’s a hint: not morning.”

“Cordelia, you are gorgeous and intelligent,” Spike observed stoically before turning his attention to Wright, who had just walked through the door with Wesley, Rosalie, and Nikki, hands full of takeout. “Zangy, you are shrewd and invaluable. Charlie, you are strapping an’—”

“Okay,” Gunn interrupted, “stop it. That’s scary.”

“Wes,” Spike continued, unabashed, “you are capable and brilliant. Tara, much too smart for the rest of us.”

“I see your scary,” Wright muttered to Gunn, “and raise you a ‘what the hell’?”

Cordelia shrugged, unmoved. “He’s just happy ’cause he got laid.”

“I hate to think how long it’s been if he’s this happy.”

“What’s got laid?” Rosalie asked.

Nikki rolled her eyes. “Oh, real nice,” she muttered and began tugging the girl toward Wesley’s office. “Never mind that I—yes, _I_ —get the fun task of topic avoidance.”

Spike just rocked on his heels, aware that he was grinning stupidly and not giving a damn. He even waved to Nikki as she slammed Wesley’s door behind her.

“It’s different with the person you love,” Cordelia explained as though the interruption hadn’t occurred.

“Different, I get.” Gunn tossed Spike an uneasy glance. “That’s just unnatural.”

“What can I say? I’m an unnatural bloke.” Spike looked to Wright. “You have nosh for us? Won’t turn down Chinese, but I think the Slayer needs some liquid first.”

“Couple bags of O poz, that work?”

“Just a couple?”

Wright grinned. “Weetabix for you, chocolate for Buffy. I thought you’d work up an appetite.”

“Now, that’s what I like to hear. Give us a sec and we’ll be down. Buffy’s come to a decision.”

And that seemed to kill the good mood below. Not his problem.

“Very well,” Wesley said a minute later. “Be quick.”

Spike delivered a mock salute. “Aye, aye, cap’n.” He whirled and retreated without another word, whistling a show tune and still smiling like a sodding lunatic.

Couldn’t help it. This was one bloody parade that no one could rain on.

*~*~*

“Here we go,” Cordelia muttered.

“We don’t know what she decided,” Wesley said.

“I have three guesses, and all of them are the same thing.”

Wright threw her a narrow glare. “Just because you know what you would do if you were in her position.”

Cordelia inhaled deeply, fire igniting under her skin. “Now just one—”

“Stop,” Wesley barked. “No more bickering. It was getting us nowhere to begin with and it won’t help now. Buffy is the only one among us that Angel hurt. Her say should be final.”

“Yeah,” Cordelia replied snidely, “and she’s also the one that doesn’t have to deal with the consequences of what she decides. She gets to go back to her life where Angel’s a dusty memory. She decides, Wes, and we’re left cleaning up what’s left over! Call me crazy but, that idea doesn’t fly well with me.”

Wesley frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted when the doors behind him swung open.

“‘Angel’s a dusty memory.’ About damn time,” Lindsey said in greeting. “So when will the happy event occur?” He stopped and frowned when he saw everyone was staring at him. “What? Have I missed something?”


	44. Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm getting close to being done with this rewrite/edit, I thought I'd share something about this story that I hadn't shared before (at least, not to my memory).
> 
> Zack Wright is 100% modeled off of Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell.
> 
> Right before I started writing this story WAY back when, a friend and I had just written a private crack!fic featuring characters from every conceivable pop culture reference that was relevant to us at the time (circa 2003/2004). Buffy, Saved by the Bell, Harry Potter, Ferris Bueller, Hannibal Lecter, The West Wing, and so forth. Our versions of Spike and Zack became mischief BFFs and it was so much fun to write that I decided an actual fanfic version of Spike needed a Zack BFF. So Zack Wright was born. And yes, Zack Morris was called "Zangy" in the crack!fic. That carried over.
> 
> His wife who was murdered? That was Kelly. Her name being Amber in this fic isn't a coincidence.
> 
> Anyway, I thought I'd let you guys know. Zack Wright is what would have happened to Zack Morris in The Darkest Timeline. ;-)

"Oh, wow," Buffy muttered as Spike guided her into the lobby. "Everyone is here." She looked to Lindsey McDonald and tightened her grip on her lover’s hand. "And I do mean everyone."

Lindsey offered a small smile. “Nice to feel welcome.”

Cordelia shrugged. "Well," she drawled, "in all fairness, you were the spokesperson for the evil organization that brought her here in the first place, so you can't blame the girl for not greeting you with a kiss."

"That," Spike agreed, squeezing Buffy’s hand tighter still, "and I'd rip his tongue out if he tried."

"It's nothing personal," Buffy explained, tone softening. Spike tossed her a look. "Well, the kissing thing is, but…no. Not going there."

Wesley held up a hand. "By all means, the bickering can continue after we have reached conclusion. In the meantime…Buffy, I believe you had something you wanted to share."

Spike's snicker sliced through the air. "Oh, look. Mary Poppins is gonna moderate."

Wesley frowned, his eyes wide and wounded. "I beg your pardon."

"Wow,” Gunn drawled, “from singing to snarking in like two minutes. Should we postpone the meeting until you get another happy?"

A low growl of warning rumbled through Spike’s throat. "Watch it."

Cordelia narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, ten minutes ago, you were cheerful enough that I was sure Angel was gonna bite the dust. Did Buffy change her mind?"

Spike shook his head, and Buffy felt him relax. "Trust me, love. I’m happy with her decision…whatever the bloody hell you all say." He jutted his chin at Lindsey. “Just don’t much care for that wanker.”

Lindsey sighed and rolled his eyes. “Damn, you can’t catch a break around here. Do I have to remind you  _again_ that I—”

“Decided to watch as I was tortured and raped by the very vamps you handed me to, all from the comfort of your office?” Buffy offered brightly. “No. I mean, not unless you want to. Kind of a strange choice, given that you’re suddenly on my diet plan.”

Spike’s grip on her tightened even still. She squeezed back to let him know she was okay.

Still, Buffy couldn’t help but feel a stab of pity for Lindsey when pain flashed across his eyes. On some level, she understood he had done what he could—or thought he could—to help her. And though she and Spike hadn’t talked a lot about what had happened there, she wasn’t so dumb to not see that Lindsey was the reason Spike had gotten to her in the first place.

But that didn’t make up for the bad. Didn’t even begin to.

"I…” Lindsey shook his head and looked down. “You’re right. I know I'm the last person you want to see right now."

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Buffy replied. “Top five, maybe.”

"Guys," Gunn said, holding up his hands, "sorry to interrupt the awkward, but wasn't there some announcement you wanted to make?"

Buffy nodded, relaxing a little. "I think it's safe to say that I've come up with something that will work for everyone."

“Not sure how that’s gonna work when the options are killing him or souling him,” Wright said. “’Cause I’m only gonna be happy with one.”

Lindsey blinked. “What's going on?”

"Oh, you haven't heard?" Wright asked, then nodded at Tara. "Buffy's friends sent some backup. They came up with a brilliant strategy. Namely shoving a soul down Angel's throat and calling it even."

"Now wait—" Buffy began, but she didn’t get far.

Lindsey had turned to Spike so fast his shoes squeaked against the floor. "What is this? We had a deal, and in no way was a soul involved."

The room became palpably tense at that. Cordelia, Wesley and Gunn turned to him as one and demanded in unison, "A deal?"

"Doesn't matter," Spike said, unbothered. "It’s null and void now."

"No,” Lindsey spat, “I really don't think so."

"What is this deal?" Cordelia demanded. "And why haven't we heard of it?"

Wright crossed the room at and took his place at Spike’s other side, something that made Buffy’s chest warm.

"More importantly,” the demon hunter said, then leaned over to whisper, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It doesn't matter," Spike repeated softly. "It’s off the bloody table."

"Like hell it is," Lindsey snarled.

Buffy leaned into Spike as well. "I’m just curious now. What was it?”

He met her eyes with obvious trepidation but seemed to relax again. Then he nodded and turned back to address the group. "Fine. Just keep your hands off your pitchforks, all right? I told you that we had a plan before. Lindsey offered to help get the Slayer out by callin' his friend the locksmith."

"Gregori," Lindsey agreed, nodding.

"Whatever.” Spike broke his focus from the room and looked straight at Buffy. “He was gonna help get you out…and in turn, I was gonna knock off Angel. No bloody questions asked."

There was nothing but silence for a long moment.

"Wait for it…" Spike muttered.

And they didn't disappoint. "SPIKE!" chorused from all corners.

"There it is."

"Damn, that sucks," Wright swore. "We came so close."

Spike shook his head. "Like I said, things change. We all know it didn't go down like that. So…moving on."

"No," Cordelia snapped. "Not moving on. Where do you get off making deals like that without running it by us first? Without even telling us? This is not how we do business."

He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And I'm failing to see where it stopped being a good idea," Wright muttered.

Lindsey nodded. "As am I."

"Because the Slayer doesn't want to dust the git."

He might as well have announced that he was pregnant with kittens. Again, the room swirled to a standstill. All eyes fell on Buffy.

"Buffy…" Wesley said slowly.

"You don't?" Cordelia demanded.

Wright sighed and bristled. "And here we go…"

Buffy shook her head slowly, grip tightening on Spike's hand. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. "There are several reasons why," she began. "Mainly…and believe me, I know how petty this is of me, but hey—being tortured can do that to a person. But killing him is simple. Too simple. I want him to… I want him to  _feel_ what he did to me. That probably makes me awful, but it’s how I feel. He made me hurt and I want to make him hurt, and this is the best way to do it." She sighed and looked down. "I don’t want to kill him, but I kinda want him to wish I had." She met Tara's shocked gaze. "I want you to do the curse."

Another still beat settled through the lobby.

Wright nudged Spike subtly. "And this is all right with you?"

Spike shrugged. "Hell, from where I'm standin', she raises a good point. You don't know Angel, mate. The git’s gonna torture himself over what he's done. Cheatin' me outta watchin' that…well, it’s just not right." He paused. "Buffy's too noble to come out and say she's out for blood without apologizing. I'm not. I want him to wish he was dust. Only thing better than being rid of the ponce forever."

"I'm still not over the 'you offered to kill Angel without telling us' thing," Cordelia snapped. "We've done nothing but help you since you get here, Spike. Honestly…"

"Look, maybe it was wrong, but if it came down to killing him or letting him kill Buffy, you better bloody believe I was gonna do it, and you’re off your rocker if you think I’m gonna apologize for that. Only reason I didn’t tell you was because it never panned out." He shrugged again. "The deal fell through when this wanker”—he nodded to Lindsey—“let Angelus kill her.”

Lindsey's eyes flared. "That wasn't my fault."

"Even so, the deal was your man gets her out, I'll do in Angel. You didn't deliver."

"Lilah came at me with a stun gun."

"And I respect her for it. Really. That must've taken balls." He smirked. "What'd she do? Steal yours?"

"Look, there's no point arguin' over this," Gunn said, raising his hands. "Buff came to a decision that doesn't result with Angel bein' dead. Everyone happy? Good. I say we go for it."

"I'm not happy," Lindsey said.

Wright rolled his eyes. "And a show of hands of people who care…"

"I'm not, either." Cordelia was still focused on Spike, her eyes pained. “We’re your friends and you know how we feel about Angel. That you would make that kind of deal without telling us…”

Spike glared at her for a long moment, then sighed, his shoulders dropping. "Look, pet," he said, "I’m sorry I didn't tell you. I really am. Not sorry for the deal, though. At the time, I didn't think there was a stone's throw we'd get Buffy outta there without…I just didn't think it was possible. I was willing to make any deal. Then he went and killed her and I…” He stiffened again, and Buffy squeezed his hand. “Well, since then, I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“Code for getting laid,” Gunn said.

Spike released one of those growls that told her plainly he was about to lose control. Buffy stepped in before he could.

“Do you want your ass kicked?” she snapped at Gunn. “’Cause I can do that. There was also the whole  _I’m a vampire_ plot twist, and we both went out to hunt Angel the other night. Spike didn’t kill him then and he damn sure could have, because I beat the asshole within an inch of his life. And excuse me for—”

Gunn brought his hands up. “Sorry. Sorry…I was…going for a joke and it didn’t land.”

Buffy blinked at him. “That’s what passes for a joke in your world?”

“Never said I was a comedian.”

“And you never should.” Buffy gave her head a shake and turned back to Spike, who was gazing at her in that way that made her want to take him back upstairs and ignore all this for a couple days.

But then Spike pulled back and looked to Cordelia again. “Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “So it mighta been a mite unfair of me. But I’d have done it in a bloody blink if it had been the only way. At the time, it seemed like it. Understand?"

For long, seemingly endless seconds, Cordelia held her ground: firm and resolute. It was only when Wright clapped his hand on Spike's shoulder in tacit moral support that she jarred back to herself.

"All right," she murmured. "Did I not say all right? Really, Spike, that I get."

“Plus that plan was bullets better than yours," Spike added. “Doesn’t matter either way. It’s dropped.”

"And there we do not agree," Lindsey said. "We had a deal."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, you ninny. You're a bloody lawyer. These are the type of loopholes your kind look for. You didn't deliver and sod the reasoning, in my and everyone else's book, that means I owe you balls."

Lindsey glared at him a moment longer, then looked down, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why do I feel like I just got screwed with my pants on?"

"'Cause you did," Cordelia replied.

"And you deserve it," Wright drawled.

Lindsey took a step toward him, all body language indicating he was ready for a brawl. "You have something to say?"

"As a matter of fact—"

"Just lay off, the both of you," Cordelia barked. "There was no way we could have made everyone happy with this decision, so deal."

Gunn grinned. "Notice how she says this after she gets the answer she was waiting for."

Wesley stepped forward at that. “Buffy," he said softly. "This is what you want. Are you certain?"

"Yes."

Spike squeezed her hand again.

"He put you through a great deal—"

"Yeah," she replied with a nod. "And I intend to give it right back. I want him to feel it." There was a heavy silence before she exhaled. "Angel…it's complicated. Well, not nearly as complicated as it should be. I know he and Angelus aren't one in the same. I know. Believe me, I took  _Soul Searching for the Undead_  101 and passed with flying colors. But…his face…his…those were his hands that touched me." A shudder coursed through her, and she took an intuitive step toward Spike, who wrapped an arm around her. "It was Angelus, but there was enough Angel there for me to never, ever forget. I'm the Slayer. I'm used to dealing with otherworldly things. What he did to me was not otherworldly."

Lindsey nodded, his eyes growing distant. "He wasn't a vampire with you," he said. "He was just a…maniac. I saw that. I'm just… I'm sorry I didn't do more when I should have."

Buffy inhaled. Despite what she’d said, despite the anger and resentment that still burned her insides, she knew the lawyer had done his best within reason to help her at great personal risk. “I know," she replied. "And…thanks. But you're right. He wasn't a vampire. He was…"

"Shades of Hannibal Lecter, from what I heard," Cordelia agreed when Buffy didn't continue. "Girl, no one blames you for being out for blood. I just don't think that Angel should be held accountable for something he didn't technically do. He's our friend. Beneath everything nasty, he's our friend."

She nodded. "He was mine, too. I just…I don't want to be anywhere near him for a long, long time. I don't want him to tell me he's sorry. I don't want to see him in pain…even though I want him to, well, be in pain. I don't want to know what he's thinking or feeling or even that he's feeling at all. Maybe in a couple hundred years, I'll be over it. But not now."

"I assure you," Wesley said softly, "as long as you are here, Angel will not be welcome."

She looked up, met his eyes, and gave a short nod. "Thank you."

"Do you at least want to be with him?" Tara asked softly. "When I…when I do the spell, I mean. He's…Willow told me—"

"No," Buffy all but barked. "Again with the petty, but hey, score one for apathy from the tortured girl. Angel might deserve better, but not from me." She turned her eyes to Cordelia. "Ergo, I will not begrudge anyone who decides to…you know…hold his hand."

Wright cleared his throat. Sharply.

Cordelia flashed him a smile. "Oh, I dunno. It is mightily tempting."

For a moment, Buffy thought she might have seen Wright’s eyes flash red, and she felt a pang for the man that surprised her. She knew Spike saw it too for the way his jaw tightened. And again, it occurred to her how isolated he must have been the past few years. Whatever else, Spike cared for Wright. The man might well be her vampire’s first healthy relationship with another guy in…well, ever.

She thought back to what she’d told Spike upstairs and felt that pang again. Once they went back to Sunnydale, he was going to lose this. All of this. Being a part of a group that valued him and regarded him as an equal and didn’t talk down to him, never more apparent than in the way Cordelia had expressed her anger about the deal with Lindsey. While she’d been angry, it had been anger for the right reasons. Reasons that might have applied to anyone.

What Buffy had just witnessed would never have happened in Sunnydale, and the knowledge made her gut twist.

"Okay," Gunn said, rubbing his hands together as though trying to generate fire. "So that settles Angel. We bring him back, he broods, ya'll leave, he moves back in, broods some more, and sometime in the year 2027, we get back to work. Thank you, next please. Let's talk Darla and Dru."

At that, Wright tensed. "Darla's mine."

"Funny, you keep sayin' that."

"Yeah. If you haven't noticed, I've had a bit of bad luck in finding the bitch. I want her dead, and I wanna do it."

"So, here's the hypothetical," Cordelia said, backing up to hoist herself onto the counter. "You find Darla. You kill her. You take immense, orgasmic pleasure in it. That's over with. And the next words in your vocab, I imagine, will be along the lines of, 'What now?’ Do you know the answer?"

Wright frowned. "I don't…what are you saying?"

Gunn rolled his eyes. "Are you gonna bail on us, man? You know, the entire, 'I hate to bust in, stay, stay a little longer, stake and run'?"

A blank look washed over Wright’s face. "I…I…"

"You know," Buffy began, nudging Spike with her shoulder, "just to drop my point two, you got a helluva cute kid in that office, most likely enduring the sloppiest version of the birds and the bees, from what I've seen of Nikki."

Wright’s brow furrowed. “Yeah…”

"And she deserves a nice, solid home," Buffy added. There was nothing for a minute.

Then she elbowed Spike again, and he caught on this time. "Oh, erm, right." He nodded. "The tyke’s a good kid, and you don't want her to turn into…well…you."

Wright grinned wryly. "Thanks."

Spike shrugged. "It’s only love I feel, Zangy."

"Yeah, I can tell."

Gunn grinned and looked to Cordelia, who gave him a thumb’s up. "Well," he began, nodding at Wesley. "We've been talkin', and we think we got the 'what now?' thing covered. Provided your cool with it and everything."                          

"Yeah," Cordelia said. "Though this only works, by the by, if you're gonna be able to contain yourself in the handling of Angel."

"We're not gonna let him back in as Boss Man," Gunn said.

"That's totally Wes's territory now," Cordelia agreed.

"I want everyone to know," Wes interjected, holding up a hand, "that I had absolutely nothing to do with that part. Rather, Gunn and Cordelia forcibly assumed that I would want to maintain a leadership position."

Cordelia smirked. "Oh, whatev. You're doing an inner happy dance, and you know it." She turned back to Wright. "And, seeing as you were instrumental in getting our bookman into the demon-hunting gig…we think it should be a partnership."

At once, the lobby became unbelievably quiet.

Zack blinked stupidly. "I'm…I…could you…what?"

A wicked smile crossed her face and she hopped to the floor and began walking toward Wright with slow, one-hundred percent Cordelia Chase Swagger™. "You really think I'm gonna let you scamper away? Ahem—hell no. And don't look twice, but Spike here'd go through withdrawal if you were to up and disappear. But he's way too manly to admit it."

"Way," Buffy agreed, a giddy bubble climbing up her throat.

The vampire in question scowled at her. She merely smiled unrepentantly.

"You…you want me…to…" The befuddled look on Wright’s face was truly priceless. "I…you two have been here so much longer than…and I'm not even on your payroll, and…" He glanced to Gunn and Wesley with growing skepticism. "Have you thought this through?"

"It was English's idea,” said Gunn. “He says you're the best of the best, bro, and so far, he ain’t been wrong."

"So those cracks about Darla earlier were—"

Gunn shrugged. "I was humoring myself."

Wright looked back to Cordelia. "You really want me to…you want to work for me?"

"Well, the ideal word is  _with_. Technically, you and Wes would fill the big shoes, but we're more like a family thing. But there would be money." Cordelia tilted her head. "And if we thought we'd be remotely successful, we'd try to recruit Spike, too, but he's so totally going wherever Buffy goes."

"Sorry pet," Spike said, grinning. "Only so much of me to go around."

Buffy offered a weak smile at that and nodded when he winked at her. But her heart wasn’t in it.

How could she take him away from this?

"It sounds like a really great idea," Tara piped in with a weak smile before glancing down. "S-sorry, I don't even know you. But congratulations."

Wright was still staring at Cordelia in disbelief. "You really wanna keep me here?"

That was all it took. Cordelia snorted and rolled her eyes. "You? Nah. It's not about you. But if you even try to take that child of yours away from me, I'll hire Wolfram and Hart to find some morally sketchy way to give me custody. Then you'd have to stay. For Rosalie and all."

Wright domed a brow. "For Rosalie."

"Rosalie, Nikki, the Barbies. Everything."

He paused, making a face. "Maybe not Nikki. She really should go back to school."

"Agreed."

"Preferably somewhere very far away."

Lindsey cleared his throat suddenly. "This is riveting, it is. But I have a sick police officer to take care of, so I'm going to be on my way." He glanced to Wesley. "You'll call me when this is over?"

"You can be assured," the former Watcher replied. "And you keep in touch…should any sources leak information to you about…anything."

Lindsey snorted. "That's not happening. It's a nice thought, but it's not happening."

"Nevertheless…"

"Nevertheless, I'll keep in touch." McDonald turned his attention briefly to the display in the center of the lobby and gestured broadly. "Good luck sorting everything out."

There was nothing for a long minute following the lawyer’s departure. Then, with a cocky grin, Wright turned back to Cordelia. "If I stay, will I have to put up with that asshole?"

"Lindsey's not too bad…once you get to know him." She made a face. "Unfortunately, I haven't reached that second stage yet."

Spike raised his hand with a dry smile. "Ummm, I got a quick quibble. If Zangy stays, and really—all for that—what happens when Angel comes off his sodding guilt trip and wants his job back?"

Gunn shrugged. "He gets it."

"Just a very degraded version of  _it_ ," Cordelia agreed. "As in, not in charge."

"Never gonna be in charge."

Wesley nodded dismally, removing his glasses in a manner that was so Gilesy that Buffy felt a pang of homesickness that surprised her. Followed by guilt.

There had to be a way to make this work. Right?

"Had we captured the pattern of his destructive behavior in the first place," Wesley said softly, "this entire mess could have been averted."

Buffy arched her eyebrows, forcing her mind back to the present. "What? You could've made Wolfram and Hart leave his soul in there because he'd had a better day than planned?"

"She's right," Spike agreed. "What happened can be blamed on a lot of people. No one in this room qualifies." He paused, then shook his head and hissed. "'Cept those that don't count as human, of course."

Buffy turned to him with a sigh. "Spike—"

"I’m just sayin'—"

"It wasn't your fault. I might be a dense fake-blonde at times, but I do remember the bargy-inness that was you the night that Darla did the snatch thing." She smiled and rested her chin on his shoulder. "We gave you the blow off, and you did what anyone would've. Stop. Blaming. Yourself."

"You really did," Tara added. "I remember. Really. And then with the coming in after she was gone. You've done everything you could, Spike."

A small smile tickled his face. "Comin' from you, Glenda, that means a lot."

Buffy scowled and punched his shoulder.

"Ow! Watch it there, pet. It wasn't as though your jabs didn't hurt before."

She ignored him. "So it means a lot coming from her? Hello! I've been telling you that ever since I woke up, all Night of the Living Buffy."

He gave her a gentle smile. "Trust me, love. You have the power to break me with every breath. Everything you do and say means more to me than you can imagine."

He leaned toward her and nibbled on her lips, which had parts of Buffy that had never been quite so active before firing up all over again. She kissed him back with more need than she could remember feeling before remembering they had an audience who likely didn’t appreciate public displays of affection. Yet.

Of course, several people had gotten quite a show the day before. She thought, at least. They had gotten from the basement to the bedroom without breaking contact. If anyone had been in the lobby, and it seemed someone always was, they’d likely seen more than they cared to.

Cordelia snickered. "You two can make with the lovey-dovey later. Behind closed doors. Right now, I want an answer." She turned to Zack. "Well?"

"Come on, man," Gunn said encouragingly. "Stay. You gotta admit, you're one of us now."

Wright smirked, rubbing his chin. “I don't know…" he mused. “Can we rename it Wright Investigations?”

Spike barked a laugh. "Oh, that's bloody rich. I can already see the new slogans. 'Where everything is done the Wright way.'"

Buffy grinned and shook her head. "Oh, that’s bad. How about, 'We'll do the job Wright, or your money back.'"

Spike danced his fingers up her side, making her squirm—and throw him a death glare if he dared reinstate the previous day’s tickle fight with an audience. He just smirked at her. “What? Don’t throw stones if that’s best you can come up with.”

“Hey! Mine offered a refund. Definitely more useful.”

He nipped playfully at her ear.

"'The Wright people working for the Wright cause,'" Tara added. She blushed and looked down when her comment earned several chuckles. "Again…sorry. I really, don't know you."

Wright shrugged good-naturedly. "Ah, don't worry about it. You know, any friend of…yadda yadda yadda."

"And God said, 'Let there be Wright.'" Silence settled over the lobby as everyone looked to Wesley, who flamed red at being the center of attention. "Are we not doing this anymore? …I thought it was funny."

"That's because you're a Dork—the kind with a capital 'D'." Cordelia pivoted back to Zack. "And, no. Fun as it might be to pun your name, not with the renaming. You have any idea how long it took Angel Investigations to establish a clientele base? So not going there again."

"You drive a hard bargain."

She shrugged. "I try."

“Though…” Wright looked back to Wesley. “What about Wright & Pryce?”

“Again, not changing the name!”

“But those slogans just write themselves!” Tara blurted. “Like… ‘The Wright job at an unbeatable Pryce.’”

Buffy burst out laughing.

Cordelia shook her head. “Umm, the objective is to get clients, not chase them away. Plus, he  _still_ hasn’t said whether he’s taking it, so let’s hold off the rebranding campaign, okay?”

The light on Wright’s face dimmed a little, the humor abandoning his eyes. He looked at Cordy and swallowed. “You’re sure this is what you want? I’m…not without baggage.”

She rolled her eyes. “Who isn’t?”

“My baggage is—”

“I know what your baggage is. But hey, I kinda like you anyway.”

"If I may…" Spike said, waving a little, his gaze on Wright. "And this is to be in no way taken as a sign that I like you, but really, if you need any more persuasion than the bubbly girl in front of you, you're even thicker than I thought."

Cordelia beamed at him. "Thanks!"

"Don't mention it, pet."

There was another beat, then a warm smile crept over Wright’s rugged, unshaven face. "All right, all right. You win. Where do I sign?"

"Hurrah!" Tara cheered, giving a small wave of approval.

Cordelia squealed and threw her arms around the demon hunter, nearly knocking him off balance. "I promise you won't regret this."

"She'll probably give you a good reason not to," Gunn added with a wink.

Wright shrugged, tightening his arms around her. "Hey, this is the first PDA I've gotten in two days. I'll take it."

"Very good, then," Wesley said with a definitive nod. "All is set." He turned his attention to Tara and offered a kind smile. "If there is nothing else, it would be best we should get to the first item of business. And, unless I am off schedule, I believe we have a curse to cast."


	45. The House's Fall

Zack Wright had always considered himself an able father if nothing else. Someone who was there for his daughter when she needed him. While hunting often kept him from the dinner table, he never considered himself truly negligent. He knew Rosalie well. He knew her favorite movie was still The Little Mermaid and that she liked pickles with her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He knew that she couldn't sleep unless she had her faithful bedmate—Dr. Haller, the panda bear—snuggled into her side. He knew that she was more adult than most adults. And he knew that he would die protecting her.

He loved his daughter more than life itself. And for the first time in seven years, it occurred to him how thoroughly unfair he had been to her with this life. He’d denied her a steady home, friends, stability, and all the things those parenting books he’d once read had said was important. Instead, she had watched him stomp through too many doors covered in blood and demon guts. She had forced herself to adjust to his schedule so she could have coffee ready for him. So she could spend time with him. He had never known a nine-year old that made coffee, and certainly not one that made it as well as she did.

Rosalie was smart. Frighteningly smart. When they were in one place long enough to enroll her in school, she was often outcast by her peers for that reason. Called a freak at recess. Avoided during the lunch hour. Never picked for classroom games. The tests she took rarely contained any red marks. And she never complained.

And yet, beneath it all, she was still a little girl. A little girl who loved Disney and Barbies and all things of the Muppet-nature. She had been a born _Star Wars_ fan with an unhealthy fascination with Jabba the Hutt and a crush on Han Solo. She loved pizza and pasta and fried rice and had been known to consume entire tubs of frosting when left unsupervised.

Rosalie had once intervened with a gang of brawling boys during recess. When ignoring her didn’t work, the boys had decided to make her their punching bag instead. The teacher later told Zack that she had never seen anything like it. One minute Rosalie was standing there as they advanced, and the next, the ground was littered with them. One child even suffered a broken nose.

He had scolded her, of course. That hadn't been appropriate, especially for school.

Deep down, though, he had been proud. She could take care of herself.

And while he was still proud, he’d ignored the other end of that thought—the point that she shouldn’t have to.

Rosalie was a little girl who had been denied a normal life, and that was Wright’s doing. Had he not lost himself to vengeance, he would have seen to his daughter with more care. He would have her in a proper school where she picked up math instead of self-defense. In this alternative universe, she wouldn’t know what worked best to wash out blood stains. She wouldn’t know where the knives were hidden, or how to conceal weapons on her person. She wouldn’t know how to load a shotgun and she wouldn’t give a damn about holy water. Wright had robbed her of her childhood and comforted himself with the lie that as long as she was healthy and fed, he was doing right by her.

What was worse, he’d believed it.

And now—now—for the first time since Amber had died, they had a home.

For the first time since Amber died, Rosalie had someone she could regard as a mother.

For the first time since Amber died, he had a real purpose. And he had Cordelia.

It was time to dim out some of those darker shadows. They had been following him for too long.

As Wright pushed open the door to the room Rosalie had claimed as her own, he couldn’t help but smile. She was sitting cross-legged with her back to him, combing one of her obnoxiously pink Barbie brushes through a smooth tug of bleached hair. Yeah, she knew how to take down demons with a butter knife, but she was still a child at heart.

And now she’d have the chance to prove it.

"Whatcha doing there, Rosie Posy?"

"Brushing Natasha's hair."

She had different names for all her dolls. To her, the term _Barbie_ was synonymous with _race_. Each addition was another member of the Barbie society from the country of Barbitiana.

Wright nodded, inching into the room. "Big party tonight?"

"Wilma-Jean and Rex are getting married."

"Big thing, huh?"

"Ginger might be angry. Or Kyrian." She shrugged. "He's a vampire."

The grin faded from his lips just as easily, a cold, gray sensation flooding his veins. It wasn't an unusual occurrence. Hell, it was hardly that. Rosalie lived in a world where monsters weren't monsters—they were a breed apart. But it bothered him. It bothered him that she couldn't even bring herself to pretend monsters weren’t real during her make believe time. Yet that was the sort of child she was. She didn't endorse lies to protect herself.

One summer, long ago, he’d stopped to buy her an ice-cream cone on one of those rare days when he could devote his time to her. “So, Rosie Posy,” he’d asked, trying to do the _dad_ thing, “what do you want to be when you grow up?"

There had been nothing for a long moment. She’d nibbled absently at her cone, catching a dribble of vanilla before it splattered to the sidewalk. And then she’d gazed up at him with her mother's eyes and said, "Alive."

They never spoke of that day.

For so long, they had lived out of suitcases. They had referred to the Motel 6 as home. She had been enrolled and withdrawn from too many schools. She had no friends to comfort her. And while Powers That Be had given her the gift of Sight, it was Wright who had robbed her of her childhood.

It was never too late to fix things.

"Rosalie," Wright said softly, coming around so that he could sit across from her. "Honey, something's happened."

Her large eyes met his.

He flashed a smile and leaned in to kiss her brow. "Do you like it here, Peach-Tree?"

She nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Cordy's nice and likes you a lot." She turned her gaze to the ground. "I like Uncle Spike, too. Is that okay?"

Wright frowned. "Of course it's…what did you call him?"

"Uncle Spike. He said I should."

Oh, perfect.

"Why did he tell you that? Did he say?"

"He told me uncles were supposed to watch after their nieces and make sure that nothing bad ever happened to them." She shrugged again. "And that he would never let anything bad happen to me, so I should call him my Uncle Spike."

Zack's eyes narrowed at her. "When have you had time to talk to Spike?"

"I talked to him when you were with Cordy." Rosalie pursed her lips. "Is Cordy now Mom?"

His throat thickened and his stomach dropped out. "What?"

"You want to stay here with her."

Despite the fact that she had been doing that since birth, it was still a freaky trait.

"And Nikki said that you and she got laid, and that was something moms and dads do. So, I thought…"

A coughing fit interrupted whatever it was that she thought.

Nikki was _so_ toast.

Rosalie paused thoughtfully. "Since Uncle Spike and Buffy got laid, does that mean that they're gonna have a baby?"

That was it. He had to put an end to this before it got even more out of hand. "Sweetpea, I—"

"Since you and Cordy got laid, does that mean _she_ will have a baby?"

Wright blinked at her. "What has Nikki been telling you?"

"Not much. She told me getting laid was something moms and dads do that makes them have babies." Rosalie turned her eyes back to her dolls, her innocence too much for him. "Then she said I needed to go upstairs because telling me that was not her job. So I did." There was a long pause and she cocked her head at him. "It's something only grown-ups know about, right? Nikki doesn’t like telling me that stuff."

Yeah. In an ideal society. With as clever as she was, he reckoned he was lucky to have eluded the dreaded _Talk_ for even this long. It was his fortune that Rosalie preferred films to television and that he was privileged to censor everything before subjecting it to his daughter's eyes.

He furrowed his brow at her. "Is there any way I can get out of this conversation?"

"Well…" With breezing innocence, she turned her attention back to her dolls. "I know that you want to stay with Cordy…I just don't know if we are or not." There was another silence. "Are we staying here with Cordy?"

There it was. Cards on the table. Sometimes, it killed him that she was the adult in this relationship.

"How do you feel about that?"

Rosalie glanced up at him sharply. There must have been something in his voice, for at once, she looked every bit her age and not a day older. "Stay here with Charlie and Wes, and Cordy, too? I want to, Dad. I really, really want to."

Relief flooded through him. "Really?"

She nodded. "I just wish Uncle Spike and Buffy could stay, too. But they really have to go away?"

Wright clamped his teeth down on the inside of his cheek. He really was going to have to put a stop to this 'Uncle Spike' business.

But then, looking at her shining face, Wright figured there was no harm in it. Spike would make as good an uncle as any. Maybe he could recruit the vamp to help him scare off suitors when the day came.

"Yeah, sweetie. They do. Buffy has a mom and a sister in a town not too far from here, and she loves them very, very much. And since…Uncle Spike loves Buffy, he's gonna go where she goes."

Rosalie nodded slowly. "But he'll come back to visit…right?"

"Oh, you bet. And if he slacks off and doesn't come around for a while, we'll go see him. Deal?"

That was all it took. She was smiling again. "Deal." With a cheerful hum, she turned her attention back to her dolls, holding up the two he assumed were Wilma-Jean and Rex. "Is Cordy going to be Mom?" she asked again. "Since we're staying and you two have gotten laid—" Despite all, he couldn't help from choking at the words. She tossed him a glance that gave him the horrible notion that she had done it on purpose. "—is she going to be my new mom?"

Now, there was a question. A damn scary one at that. He hated the term _new mom_ ; it implied that Amber was easily replaced, and she wasn't. He felt the burn of her loss every day. Everything she had wanted for Rosalie. All the plans she had made for the future. The way she lovingly caressed her stomach in anticipation of their second child.

The way she’d hung from the wall, open and bleeding.

Dead.

Amber had been naïve; he had as well.

He wasn't anymore. And Cordelia was the furthest thing from naïve that he could find. And she wasn't like Amber at all. Where Amber had been submissive, Cordelia was bold. Where Amber had been sweet and soft-tempered, Cordelia was radiant and opinionated. Where Amber's touch had set him aflame, Cordelia's left him to sizzle.

He and Amber had been high school sweethearts—on and off through the early years and steady toward the end. He had never known another woman like that until he’d met Cordelia.

It was said not to happen twice, and for the longest time, he had believed it. But he didn’t anymore.

And just like that, it hit him. Like a bunch to the freaking throat.

He was in love with Cordelia.

He was absolutely, positively, one-hundred-fucking-percent-in-love with Cordelia. With everything about her. From her attitude to her warmth to the way she could make him squirm simply by reading a magazine. He was in love with her. In love with her in a way that he had never been with Amber. Neither weaker nor stronger—different and beautiful. He loved her completely.

Fucking Christ, how had this happened?

Never had he suspected himself possible for caring for another woman in his lifetime.

Of course, not too long ago, he had told Spike that they would never be friends. And now his daughter was calling him uncle.

Slowly, he brought himself to awares and turned his attention back to his expectant child. With a thin, nearly timid smile, he took Wilma-Jean, Rex, and Natasha from her grasp and set them before him.

"I'm gonna try to explain this, okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He held up Rex. "Pretend this is me."

Rosalie nodded.

A grin tickled his lips. He reached for Natasha. "Pretend this is your mother…sans the hair and the figure and the every-man's-fantasy."

She looked at him quizzically.

"Not that your mom wasn't perfect," he corrected. "But Barbie—"

"That's Natasha."

"Sorry. Natasha…no real woman looks like Natasha, okay? These are impossible self-esteem-blowing standards that Mattel oughta be sued for. Unless women have had work or throw-up every day, they don't look like this. Believe me, I know." When her bewilderment didn't diminish, he sighed, cursed himself for opening his mouth and inserting his foot, and continued. "Anyway, pretend Natasha is your mom."

She nodded.

He reached for Wilma-Jean. "This is Cordy, okay?"

"Cordy has brown hair."

"So did your mom."

"And it's short."

He nodded patiently. "Yeah, it is."

Rosalie tilted her head. "Cordy looks more like the doll than Mom did. Does that mean she's had work or throws up?"

Wright pondered scouring the room for a hole to crawl into. "Can I pay you never to mention this conversation to anyone?"

"So I shouldn't ask Cordy—"

"I swear, I will hang you upside down from your toes for a week if you do."

She giggled, encouraging a smile of his own. "You wouldn't."

"You're right. You caught me. Just don't ask Cordy."

A shrug. "Okay."

Wright held out for a moment, considering. "Also, don't tell her that I used a doll you named 'Wilma-Jean' to represent her in this little charade."

Another shrug, though she was smiling this time. "Okay."

"Okay." He let out a deep breath before returning his attention to his demonstration. "Okay, so this is me. And this is your mom. Your mom and I had you, and we both love you very much."

"Mom, too?"

"Wherever she is, pumpkin, she loves you." Zack felt his eyes misting and a lump rising in his throat. The years hadn't been kind to him, and he had never felt the urge to sit down and discuss his late wife with Rosalie. There were things she wanted to know—things she _deserved_ to know. Things he couldn't mention without losing himself. And yes, while it still hurt, the wound was finally nearing completion in the healing process, even if it would always remain red and tender. "But then your mom went away," he continued, placing Natasha to the side. "And it hurt Dad for a long time. Dad took you and Nikki—" He hastily fumbled until he found a Stacy and Skipper doll. "—and he was never the same. He did things he's not proud of, and eventually became someone that wasn't even… He became someone else. Someone even your mom wouldn't approve of. The day that Mom went away, Dad went away, too. He just couldn't do it the way she had."

It wasn't until he felt Rosalie's small hand covering his own that he realized he was trembling, and that the mist in his eyes had transformed into tears.

But for the life of him, he didn't know who he was crying for.

It took a minute to locate his voice, and when he did, it was hoarse and full of emotion he hadn't thought himself possible of feeling anymore. "Since Dad couldn't go away with your mom," he continued, "he tried to run away from everything else. He went and killed demons, taught you and Nikki to do the same. And while he still loved you more than anything in the world, he was very lost. He kept trying to run away, but every time he found some place new, what he was running from would catch him. Then, one day, he met a vampire named Spike."

Rosalie obediently handed him Kyrian.

"And though Dad and Spike didn't get along at first…" He did a poor imitation of the two dolls trying to kill each other. "…eventually, they decided that they should try to put their differences aside. And then, something strange happened. Spike introduced Dad to Cordelia. And then something stranger happened. That part of Dad that had been lost for so long? Well, she found it. She found it and gave it back to him. She and Spike and all their friends reminded Dad what he had been missing out on. And while Dad still misses Mom very much, Cordelia…she…she makes him Dad again. She and her stupid little magazines and her stupid mochaccino with two percent, whipped cream and chocolate shavings, and her stupid vamp-sponsorship, and her stupid—"

"Stop."

Wright frowned. "Why?"

"Because Cordy's right behind me."

He froze before timidly raising his eyes, knowing she spoke the truth and damning himself for not noticing her in the first place.

"Oh, fuck."

Cordelia beamed at him. "That's exactly what you're not getting, buster." Her gaze then darkened. "And don't use that language in front of her!"

"It's okay," Rosalie recited. "I've heard it before."

She sighed. "How many times a day do you say that, hon?"

"Four or five."

"Right!" In an instant, Zack had bolted to his feet, plastering a forced smile to his face and moving hurriedly for the door. "I'm going downstairs now. You two have fun."

Grinning, Cordelia winked at his daughter before entwining her arm with his. "I'll walk you. Tara's done with the curse. We're all just sort've waiting now."

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"You better believe it."

He had no idea the depth of trouble, but she didn't leave him guessing for long. They barely made it halfway down the corridor before she abruptly stopped and shoved him against the wall, covering his mouth with hers with such frenzy that it made him weak in the knees. They dueled for long seconds until the breathing thing got in the way, forcing them apart for a few still beats. Then their eyes met and before he knew it, they were going in for seconds.

"Mmm," Wright murmured against her. "Not that I'm complaining, but—"

"Rosalie didn't tell you how long I was in the doorway." Cordelia pulled back with a warm smile, brushing a kiss on his cheek. "You're really the sweetest man I've ever met."

"Hey—"

"Well…" She paused. "Maybe except for Spike."

"HEY!"

She just grinned, unrepentant. "So, Rosalie's okay with you're staying?"

Wright nodded. "She'd rather Spike and Buffy stay, too, but we know the chances of that are…"

"Nonexistent?"

"Yeah."

She clasped his hand, fingers entwining as she led him down the hall. "Well, who knows?" she said softly. "Buffy loves Spike, and Spike loves it here. Maybe—"

"She has a life elsewhere."

"Yeah, like an hour away."

"It's the Hellmouth, Cordy. She can't just leave."

"Oh, so she's supposed to spend every waking minute for the rest of forever watching over it? Hell-o! It's called a life, pal. Besides, there's a Hellmouth in Cleveland, too. And guess what's on their Christmas list, right next to pony or something else you want but never get. Begins with S, ends with…well you get the point." A sigh rolled off her shoulders. "Okay, okay. Big fault. I'm not wild about being without them, either, but it wouldn't work out. Angel's coming back—most likely—and I really don't think that Spike could stand being around him."

"Angel really has to work here? He can't…I dunno…take the night shift at Walmart?"

Cordelia scowled. "He's a great guy once you get to know him."

"Yeah. He only tortured the living crap out of my best friend's girlfriend. What a fucking saint."

They froze simultaneously.

"Did you just—"

Wright's eyes widened. "No. I did not just anything. In fact—"

"You just called Spike your best friend!"

"I did not!"

"Ohhhh…" Cordelia cackled. "I am so telling!" And before he could object, she had torn from his side and bounded down the hallway, screaming that she had a secret at the top of her lungs.

He watched her disappear in horror, yelling all the way down the stairwell. Giddy and obnoxious and absurdly childish. And strangely, all he could do was laugh.

Oh yeah. This was love.

Now he just had to find a way to tell her.

*~*~*

 

"A thousand plus channels and I still can't find anything worth watching."

Lindsey arched an eyebrow, nearing the sofa with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "You don't have cable," he observed. "You only have four channels, to begin with."

"That's seven, thank you very much." Lockley shrugged and reached out to take the coffee. "Is this black?"

"I swear, I actually put the sugar and cream in the cupboard while I made yours. Just in case they decided to fling off the counter."

"Thanks." With a long, leisure sip of approval, she leaned back and waved at the television. "I only complain about what I'm watching because I don't care."

"I know."

"Before this…before _everything_ happened, sitting down to fry my brain really wasn't on the top ten of my to-do list."

"I can imagine that. My recent unemployment has me memorizing the weekly line-up, as well."

She scoffed, smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in her sweatshirt and took another sip of her coffee. "I'm memorizing nothing."

"Oh really? Then what comes on at eight? You've been watching the clock like a hawk the past half hour."

There was a pause. Kate glanced down and murmured under her breath, " _Survivor_."

He froze, staring at her for a long unblinking moment before he cracked a smile. "Ahhh," he said, nodding. "So, the detective has a guilty secret."

Lockley's eyes widened. "It's not my fault. I'm stuck here watching whatever's on. And that show just happens to be—"

"Sinfully addictive?"

"More apropos than my other choices."

Another grin curled his lips but was chased away at the sharp knock that shattered the air. Kate froze and met his gaze, her own wide with fear. Over the past two days, they both had been more than aware that Wolfram and Hart was likely to follow-up Lindsey’s firing with a more permanent canning. The firm didn’t like loose ends, and despite however much clout Lilah had, she couldn’t protect him forever.

Lockley reached up and flicked the television off, tossed the remote to the other end of the sofa, then set her drink on the coffee table and moved to stand. She didn't get very far. Lindsey placed his hand on her shoulder to hold her where she was, a finger at his lips.

"Stay put."

Her eyes widened. "I—"

"If they're here, it's for me and not you."

"And that's supposed to make me not help, how?"

Another knock at the door, followed by a rasping sound, as though someone was drawing her nails across the surface. Then a small voice touched the air, and his blood ran cold.

"Lindsey…"

Lockley glanced up. "It's a woman."

No, it was more than that.

"It's Darla."

"Darla? How did she find you here? How—"

A sigh ran through his body. "Wolfram and Hart, Lilah, following my scent, any of the above." He turned to her, studying her face for a long minute before jerking his head toward the bedroom. "You remember the other night when I told you I was putting some stuff in your nightstand?"

She nodded.

"I need you to go in there and get my insurance policy. You'll know what I'm talking about once you see it." Lindsey looked up again. "I need to know what she wants."

"Other than—oh say—a dead us?"

He shook his head. "It's something else. Just go get it."

"Whatever it is, it won't hold a vampire, Lindsey. Especially one as old and strong as—"

He tossed her a wry glance with a thin smile. "Trust me, Kate," he said. "If needed, they will do the trick."

They exchanged a long look of understanding. There wasn't much they could say without giving themselves away. If Darla even began to suspect, they wouldn't get anything from her. Thus with a nod, Lockley cast her quilt aside and fought to her feet.

Lindsey made sure she was well out of sight before approaching the door.

What he found on the other side would have at one time rendered his heart worn and seeking vengeance. Not since her resurrection had Darla appeared so lost and confused. She was wearing a light pink shawl, her hair was tangled and her eyes shaken. For everything, she seemed genuinely distraught, but he knew better than to fall for the same old. Darla was, if nothing else, an exceptional actress.

She flashed him a weak smile. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"It's not my apartment." And that raised an interesting question. "How did you find me, Darla?"

There was a pause. She was trembling hard—so hard that he had to force himself not to cross the threshold and comfort her. Despite everything that had occurred, she still had power over him. Something about her that made him want things that didn’t and couldn’t exist.

"Lilah," she managed after a moment. "A-after it…a-after it happened, L-Lilah told me where to go."

He frowned. " _'It_?'"

Darla was shaking so hard now she barely touched the floor. "It's Angelus. He…we were in Lilah office. There was fighting and…a-and he…" Her hand crawled down the expanse of her body to cover her stomach. "My boy left me. He left me again. He started yelling and sobbing, and he was hurting, and then he ran into the hall. I-I tried to go after him, but he was yammering like he had in Romania, looking at me with such…horror." She shuddered, clutching now at her throat. "He tried to kill me, Lindsey. My Angel. He tried to kill me all over again. He looked at me and then…realized who I was and… Funny, the first time this happened, he begged me to take him home."

Ah. So that explained it.

The curse had worked. Of course. What else would have brought her to him?

"And Dru? Where's she?"

Darla shook her head, looking down again. "I didn't see. Angel threw me into the hall and tried to kill me, but he couldn't. Then…then Lilah said something and he was gone. I told her I needed you, so I came." She smiled weakly. "Here I am. And I do need you, Lindsey. You're… You're the only one I have left."

He pursed his lips, considering, and finally crossed the threshold to take her into his arms. When she clutched at him, he felt his heart warming with something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in days.

But it wasn’t the same. Everything was over now.

Brushing a kiss to her temple, he whirled her so that her back was to the doorway.

"Angel tried to kill you?"

She nodded. "He had his hand at my throat. I don't know…I guess Lilah reminded him…about the cheerleader." She cracked a weak, unfeeling smile. "It's such a shame, too. We were having so much fun. Why do they always take him away from me when we're having such fun?" There was no sense waiting for a response. She nuzzled his throat, dragged her tongue up his skin, then paused and tightened her grip at his shoulders. "Lindsey…why is the mortal trying to sneak up on me?"

Lindsey froze, eyes darting to Lockley. "It's her apartment."

"Let me kill her. We'll make it our apartment."

A lump rose in his throat. "I'm sorry, Darla…" His hands skimmed the length of her arms before grasping her wrists, using that leverage to pull her against him. That was all the incentive Kate required; she hurried forward and put the aforementioned insurance policy to good use. "Today just hasn't been your day."

Darla roared and shimmied, tugging at the cuffs that now held her arms bound behind her back. She flashed around, gracing Lockley with a murderous look that would have rightly scared the piss out of anyone. "You idiot," she snapped. "Handcuffs? Please. I—"

"They're not handcuffs," Lindsey replied, coaxing her to turn her attention back to him. "I didn't leave Wolfram and Hart without taking some of the benefits along with me. I'm willing to bet you can appreciate that."

Her eyes blazed with fury, every mark of her screaming her condemnation of him as a traitor. In the next instant, her fangs had emerged and she looked to ready to gnaw through his throat until his head fell from his body, and maybe she would have had Lockley not been there to smack the back of her skull with a bookend.

Instead, Darla hit the ground in an anticlimactic heap.

Lindsey glanced up, eyes wide. “What the…?”

Lockley shrugged, unbothered. "Police officer, remember?"

"Yeah, and she's a vampire. Not to mention, you're sick."

Another shrug. "It's all in the application of strength. And I'm not that sick."

He gazed at her for another long, incredulous beat. Then slowly, he smiled.

"You're a hell of a woman, Lockley."

"This is what I'm saying." Her gaze dropped to the ground, staring callously at the vampire crowding the hallway. "Shouldn't we stake her while she's out?"

"No."

Kate blinked, not bothering to disguise her surprise. "No?"

"No." Without looking at her, Lindsey knelt forward and gathered Darla in his arms. His heart hammered, and every string that was still tied to Wolfram and Hart screamed in protest. But there was a sense of duty, and he knew that some ties to vengeance could not be broken. "Stay here, Kate. I won't be long."

"Where are you going?"

A shiver ran through his body. "Special delivery."

*~*~*

 

"You think it was a mistake inviting her in here?"

Spike tossed Gunn an incredulous glance. "It’s not like she's going anywhere."

"Lindsey didn't offer us any proof that those were Gregori's cuffs, though. He just plopped her by and decided that we should just take it on a word of faith."

Spike’s gaze narrowed. He stepped forward and tugged on the cuffs hard enough to break. They didn’t, but they did scrape Darla’s creamy skin in a way that had him testing it several times before nodding at Gunn. “Think they’re the real deal, mate.”

“You can keep doin’ that,” Gunn offered, his eyes on the scratches the cuffs had carved into her flesh. “Just to be sure.”

Spike snickered and glanced over his shoulder where Wright was sitting on the back of the sofa. A stake was ready in the demon hunter’s grip and he hadn’t looked away from Darla for more than a second.

"So, Zangy," Spike drawled. "This is it. The big one. What you've been waiting to do for seven long bloody years."

"So it would seem."

Gunn grinned. "Never figured she'd be handed to you like this, did you? Takes some of the fun outta it, right?"

Wright shrugged. “Gift-wrapped is fine by me. Kinda suits her. Done in by a lawyer and a crippled cop.”

“And her own bloody cuffs,” Spike said, tugging at them again.

"So we're countin' on getting a visit from Angel soon?” Wright asked, nodding at the cuffs “‘Cause those might come in handy.”

“You two are really not gonna get along,” Gunn said.

“I’ll get along better with him if he’s cuffed.”

Spike smirked. "Can’t say if he’ll show. Guess it depends on whether or not the wanker has a death wish. If he comes near me or Buffy while we're here, it’s gonna take hell's legions to keep me from tearing him apart."

Wright frowned. "I thought you wanted him to suffer. 'Poetic justice' and all that."

"Yeah, I did. It’s been, what? Two hours? I'd wager the git's suffered enough."

Gunn snorted. "Cordy would so kick your ass."

"Yeah, well, Cordy would have to catch me first."

"You think you oughta do it now?" Gunn asked, nodding again at the unconscious blonde. "Just get it over with?"

"No. I want her to look me in the eye. I want her to know it was me that did it."

Spike gave him a nod of approval. "That's my boy."

Wright rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

"Oi! Is that the way to talk to your _best mate_?"

"I swear, I'm gonna stake you, then Darla."

"Y'see, that'd brass off my lady. And yours too, I might add."

"Yeah. Our ladies have notoriously bad taste, don't they?"

Gunn shook his head. "I can't believe you're doing this," he told the hunter. "I mean, you're minutes away from sealin' your life's ambition, and you're using the time to bicker about your women? Isn't this usually used for self-reflection and thinkin' about how after this, nothin' will ever be the same?"

Spike and Zack glanced at each other wryly and shrugged at the same time.

"Been there," Spike said.

"Done that," the hunter agreed.

"Come on," Gunn complained. "This is it, dawg. The big it. You're entire life's gonna change."

"My life has already changed." Wright looked back at Darla. "This is just unfinished business."

"So, you're not at all nervous?"

Wright frowned. "Why would I be nervous?"

"He’s got a point, mate," Spike said. "Think about it. The whole of your former life's over after this one. You gotta be feelin' it."

"Yes, exactly!” Gunn agreed. “He's only been waiting for this for seven years."

"Dreamin' about it—"

"Planning it—"

"Practicing technique on my relatives—"

"Imagining how good it'll feel to finally—"

There was a sudden moan and everything drew to a standstill. Spike tightened his grip on Darla tightened, holding her against the wall and within clear aim of Wright's stake, should he decide to do it from a distance. However, when the moment finally arrived, there was really nothing to it.

Darla's eyes fluttered open. It took her a minute to gauge her surroundings, and another to realize that she was bound and held.

Her eyes first traveled to Spike.

_"You."_

He grinned. " _Me._ Nice of you to drop in, Grandmum. There's someone I think you oughta meet…though I'd wager introducin' you would be pointless."

There was a pause. Then she looked up.

And gasped when she saw him.

"Zack…"

That was all it took. The next instant, Wright's heated footsteps covered the lobby, then his stake disappeared into her chest. Darla gasped again, her pleading, shocked eyes wide, but Wright’s expression remained unreadable. Then Darla began to dissolve, bit by bit until there was nothing left of her—nothing save the handcuffs that clamored to the floor with a bang.

"Hmmm…" Zack said, pivoting to Gunn and tossing him the stake. "Turns out, I was fine."


	46. Tell Me Something Good

It hadn’t been like this the first time.

It had never been like this.

The sensation itself was something that no one could forget. The way it sent waves of burning light through every pore in his body, making every muscle ache. Such a shock—a blunt, sharp stab that impressed every nerve. And then pain. So much pain. 

The first of anything was supposed to be the hardest. But the second time had been worse. Feeling the weight of his conscience soar into his unprepared self. Feeling the full of Buffy’s tears as she gazed at him. Feeling the sweetness of her kisses, the whispered hush of her love. Feeling everything that he’d ever wanted or needed.

Feeling a sword punch through his gut.

Then, this last time, when Angel had realized his soul was being taken again, he had thought that to be the end. There was no way Cordelia, Wesley, or Gunn would allow him to survive. Not with what he’d made them promise. And indeed, as Angelus, he had stood outside the Hyperion, screaming at them for hours, gloating at their reluctance to kill him.  He’d thought maybe they would come after him on their own—try to catch him off guard—but they hadn’t.

Instead, they had teamed up with Spike.

_Spike._

In truth, the minute that Angel had realized his soul was being stolen, he’d decided he hoped they dusted him. That someone did. He didn’t want to go through this again. Death would be better than living with guilt.

But even then, he hadn’t known how bad it could get. That Buffy would again be his plaything, and he’d have her…

_Have her._

Over and over again.

A rush then. He had been standing in Lilah Morgan’s office, one arm around Darla as he made the usual threats. He couldn’t remember what they had been talking about. Probably the loose ends at Angel Investigations, or how to get back at Spike for growing a pair. Or killing Buffy. That was his favorite topic, after all. Killing her properly.

A sharp pain had seized his stomach, sending him to his knees. He’d found himself on the floor, clawing the carpet his muscles seized and his insides boiled. And he’d known.

“Fucking no!” he’d rasped.

“Angelus?” Darla had asked. It was a rare day when she sounded concerned.

Today was a rare day.

“Fucking no!”

Another wail had tackled the air as Drusilla fell to the ground, holding her head. “Oh, no, no, no. They’ve interrupted our tea party. No crumpets. No sugar!”

He’d felt, rather than seen, Darla’s understanding. “No…”

Then Drusilla had been sobbing, rocking herself back and forth. “Bad, bad. They’re ruining our happy home. Nasty little wasps. Buzzing around my head. Bzzz, bzzzz…”

That wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be there.

He was supposed to be dead.

Why wasn’t he dead?

Everything after Wolfram and Hart was a blur. He remembered shoving Drusilla away, but he didn’t know if he had killed her. It was possible. Things had been fast and violent.

Would he have felt it if he’d killed her? He didn’t know.

Darla, though. He remembered Darla. He remembered thrusting her against the wall in the corridor outside Lilah’s office. He remembered feeling his self-loathing and hatred take his hands to her throat. He’d wanted to tear her head from her body. He’d wanted to make her dead. If he couldn’t be dead, he wanted someone there in his place.

They had killed together. And they had enjoyed it.

But in the end, he couldn’t do it. He had killed her once. He couldn’t do it again. Not now. Now when he was even more to blame than she was for the way things had gone. She had killed, but even she had been merciful.

 _Flash._ Buffy hanging in the bowels of Wolfram and Hart, naked body marred with bite marks and bloody gashes. Things he had done to her because he’d wanted to. Because he’d been bored and she was convenient. Because she was the one thing above all others that, even now, called to him. He had done that to her.

He couldn’t kill Darla. Darla hadn’t done that.

He had.

Sorrow he was used to. Guilt he was used to. Hating himself he was used to.

This was beyond anything he had ever felt. Anything he had a right in feeling.

And he needed someone. Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn. Anyone.

He needed to see them.

The Hyperion itself was off-limits, though, and somehow he knew that. After all, Buffy would be in there. And he couldn’t face her. But he also couldn’t stay away. The Hyperion was home—the only home he had left. Even if Buffy was there, even if she hated him.

The last time he’d seen her, she had wanted him dead. She had wanted him dead even more so than he did right now.

Had it not been for Spike, she would have killed him.

_Spike._

Angel still couldn’t wrap his mind around it—it made no more sense now than it had when he’d lacked a soul. If he hadn’t seen it for himself, he wouldn’t believe it. But he had seen it. Lilah had shown him what the security cameras had captured. While he and his girls had delighted in reliving every minute of the Slayer’s agony, he recalled the pure fury that had coursed through his veins when he’d seen Spike touch his property as though he had some right.

And Spike had done more than touched her. She had welcomed his hands and lips and tongue in and on her body. She had cried for him. He had cried for her.

Angelus had watched with rage. Angel, however, could only feel disgust.

He had driven her to that. His actions had made Buffy crave the healing power of a monster that believed himself in love with her. And that _was_ what he was—a monster. Chances were she didn’t even know the chip was out. And true, while Spike was not completely unfeeling—he had never been as monstrous as the rest of them—he was still at heart what they were. A monster. And now that the danger was over, it was time for that side of him to come out of hiding. It was only a matter of time.

_That’s not fair._

Life seldom was.

_You saw him with her. He cares. He cared for her while you tried to make her scream. And he had no reason to._

That was the lowest of all thoughts. Spike without a conscience had more of a sense of right and wrong than Angel had displayed even before getting his soul yanked out. He’d been traveling a dark road before Holland Manners had started pulling strings. Darla’s return had shaken the foundation Angel relied on, such that even now with everything that had passed, he couldn’t kill her.

Something nasty told him that even if he hadn’t been Angelus, the lawyers in the wine cellar would have never made it out alive.

A monster cursed with humanity cursed with monstrosity. Where did that leave him?

Infinitely fucked.

Angel released a long, agonized sigh as he halted outside the Hyperion. He was still far enough away that he doubted anyone inside would sense him, but close enough to make out the shapes passing the windows. That alone was enough to cripple him with homesickness.

He saw Cordelia chatting heatedly with a man he didn’t know but recognized from the footage he’d seen at the firm. It was the demon hunter that had forced Buffy’s transformation. His presence came as a bit of a shock, especially since Cordelia didn’t seem to be yelling at him.

The next minute, she actually leaned forward and stole a kiss. A familiar kiss.

This man had forced Buffy to turn into a vampire and no one seemed to care.

Angel shook his head, shifting his attention to Gunn and Wesley, who were speaking with a petite blonde that might have been Buffy…but wasn’t. Across the lobby, another woman was playing a card game with a child.

This was not the Hyperion he remembered. Half these people were strangers.

It wasn’t until Spike, though, that Angel experienced pain. Real pain. Because Spike wasn’t alone; he and Buffy were coming down the stairs, hands clasped, and they were whispering conspiratorially. Spike’s eyes were bright with mischief and Buffy was looking at him…

Well, the way she’d once looked at Angel.

That couldn’t be right. It couldn’t. No matter what he’d seen on the surveillance footage… Those had been extenuating circumstances. Buffy would never—

Except she stopped before they reached the bottom stair and tugged Spike into a kiss, one he responded to with enthusiasm. Hell, they might have started stripping layers had Cordelia not abruptly torn from her conversation with her new lover to smart off at them. At that, Buffy broke away with an embarrassed smile and Spike, eyebrows raised, smarted off right back. Buffy threw him a faux-irritated look and hit his chest, which just prompted him to kiss her again. Brief this time but no less passionate.

God, Angel had broken her. He’d gone and completely broken her.

The scene unfolded like a stage play. Gunn saying something to Cordelia’s new vampire-making boyfriend, who snapped back at him in a manner of old friends jibing each other. Wesley then intervened with a comment of his own, which made everyone laugh.

Angel watched Spike disentangle himself from Buffy and approach the child and the other blonde. He knelt beside her and whispered something in her ear. Angel didn’t miss the way the blonde tensed, how she studied Spike with more reservation than anyone else there and decided this girl had to be from Sunnydale. She was the only one present reacting appropriately.

Spike said something to the blonde, though, that made her crack a smile before he stood and walked over to join Cordelia and the demon hunter. Then Buffy approached and wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her chest against his back. Spike was still in full conversation, but he raised his hand to tangle with hers where it rested against his stomach.

It was so natural, and it was the most excruciating trial Angel had ever endured. It wasn’t fair—not to Buffy, not his victims, and not even to Spike.

What was worse, Angel knew he had no right resenting this at all. This was the reality he had built. And no matter how it pained him, no matter how he wanted to, he wouldn’t intrude upon their happiness now. Spike might not deserve it, but Angel deserved it even less.

Instead, he turned and did what he should have done from the beginning. Ever since Wolfram and Hart had decided to fuck with his life by resurrecting Darla and stealing his soul.

It was time to put that all behind him and let those he loved bask in their joy.

And walk away.

*~*~*

After Wright went upstairs to put Rosalie to bed, dragging a reluctant Nikki along with him, the mood in the lobby shifted.

It was time now. Time for goodbyes and all that rot.

Spike had never had someone cry over him leaving before. It was a little unnerving and made looking at Cordelia difficult. The chit looked like she was about to start bloody blubbering and he didn’t know how he felt about that.

“I swear I was gonna let you walk, no contest,” Cordelia said, curling into Wright’s side, “but I was never good at keeping promises. Are you sure there’s nothing we can do to talk you out of this?”

“Buffy’s made her decision,” Wesley said. “Sunnydale is her home.”

“ _We_ ,” the Slayer corrected, eyes narrowing at Wesley. “ _We_ decided.”

“Of course.” Wesley went a little pink in the cheeks. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Spike smiled, arm tightening around Buffy. “Yeah,” he replied with a nod. “And we appreciate that. We really don’t…I…”

How did you go about thanking people for not being judgemental wankers? For not shutting him out that first day when it would have been the easy thing? For believing him, for helping him get to Buffy.

For being part of the reason she was with him now—with him in a way he’d never thought possible.

Add to the fact that the reality of leaving was hitting him hard. This lot had given him more in a few days than he’d had in the whole of his unlife. Walking away from that was bloody hard.

Even worse, Buffy was now looking at him like she knew what he was thinking, and it was hurting her.

“We’ve spent some time talking,” she said, her voice rough. The way it got when she was seconds from crying. A pang hit his chest and he tugged her closer to kiss her temple.

Wherever she went was home. He hoped she knew that.

“When we weren’t shagging like mad,” Spike offered to lighten the mood. It worked, at least for a moment. She rolled her eyes and slapped his chest. “What?” he asked, all innocent. “You’re not exactly quiet, love.”

Gunn barked a laugh, then threw his hands up when Cordy scoffed at him. “What, he ain’t wrong.”

Wright visibly struggled to keep from laughing. Wesley took off his glasses and began to polish. And Tara started staring intently at a spot on the ground.

“Oh my god.” Buffy buried her face in Spike’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you. You are literally the worst.”

Spike smirked and tightened his arm around her. “Love how she sweet talks me.”

“Yeah,” Cordelia said slowly, her eyes narrowed. “If I find out that she staked you to get you to shut up, I will not be surprised. Nor sympathetic.”

“Thank you, Cordy,” Buffy said with a fake-serious nod.

Cordelia shrugged. “Girls gotta stick together.”

“Absolutely.” Buffy made a face at Spike, then cracked a grin and looked away before falling serious once more. “Anyway, things are going to be different now. That’s some of the stuff we talked about.”

“We’re gettin’ an apartment, for one,” Spike observed without missing a beat. “The Slayer doesn’t wanna live in a graveyard, and I respect that.”

She made another face at him, which he answered with an unrepentant grin. “And Spike has decided that, despite how much he loves my family, it’d be better if we—oh say—didn’t live there.”

“But it won’t be till after this Glory business is over,” he confirmed.

“Until then, we’ll stay in the basement.”

Gunn frowned. “Wait. Whoa. Who’s Glory?”

“Someone you don’t have to worry about,” Buffy replied. “I just have to stay near the house until she’s bit the dust.”

“Watch the way you use that phrase, love.”

Tara smiled. “We haven’t really had any trouble with her. Glory, that is. I mean, since we went to England. We didn’t tell anyone where we were going, and the Council gave us some information—”

Buffy’s eyes flashed and suddenly she was all slayer. “What information?”

“It’s…it’s not good. But it might not be a problem for too much longer.”

Spike frowned and looked to Buffy. “I never got the full on that. y’know.”

She offered him a reassuring smile. “You’ll know. I just can’t talk about it right now.”

“What’s this, girl?” Gunn demanded with false indignation. “We gang up to save your hide, and you can’t trust us?”

“Oh no. So completely not that. I trust you. I’m all with the trusting. It’s more…if you know, you’re in danger.”

“So it’s just me and her normal mates that she doesn’t like,” Spike affirmed with a nod. He received a death glare in turn. “And Zangy, I’m guessing, if he decides to tag along.”

Cordelia frowned and curled more possessively around Wright. “What?”

“Just temporary, pet,” Spike retorted, holding up a hand. “Buffy and I thought it’d be to our benefit to have your honey come back with us. Y’know…fight the baddies and all that sodding rot.” He flashed a speculative smile at Wright. “If that’s all right with him.”

“Let me emphasize the _temporary_ ,” Buffy added. “Not that we wouldn’t be thrilled for you to be in SunnyD forever, but as we all know, that issue was decided yesterday.”

There was a long moment. Wright blinked slowly. “What? Okay…I’m lost. Now you want me to come with you—”

“Again with the temporary.”

“—to fight this…Glory chick?”

“We need all the help we can get,” Tara offered.

“We do,” Buffy agreed with a nod. “Well, we always do, but especially right now with the… With all the extra special clauses that come with her. It’d be a favor to Spike—and me—and if it’s all right with everyone here…” She frowned as she glanced around the lobby. “We’re not asking any more than to borrow him for…two weeks, tops.”

Wesley’s eyes widened. “Two weeks?”

Tara shrugged. “It’s not that much, when you think about it.”

“And Zangy’s the most obvious choice,” Spike added. “He’s not hot on the wire around here on a normal day—yet—and this town needs the bloody lot of you to keep from high-tailin’ it to hell.”

Cordelia didn’t look convinced. Her brow remained furrowed, her lower lip between her teeth. “But you’re going to let him come back hassle free.”

Wright arched an eyebrow. “Ummm, _let him_? What, you think they’d lock me in the basement?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Look,” Buffy said, holding up a hand. “If it’s going to be a problem—”

“No, there is no problem,” Wesley interjected. “I know enough about hellmouths to recognize that trouble circulating with the rise of a new power can result with catastrophic consequences. We would be happy to help in any way possible.”

“Ummm, hold on.” Wright waved his free arm, scowling. “Unless I missed something, I could’ve sworn this was—oh, I don’t know—my decision.”

The former Watcher shook his head. “Not anymore. Your decisions are based on what’s good for the whole, and right now, what’s good for the whole coincides with not being killed horribly in the potential upcoming apocalypse.”

Buffy tensed. “Who said anything about an apocalypse?”

“You had it all over your face,” Wesley replied. “I might not have been the best watcher, but I do know how to read ‘potential world-threatening disaster ahead’ when called for.”

“So this is a company decision?” Zack demanded, brow furrowed. “A company decision where the company in question is the same that I’ve been named president to?”

Wesley stiffened and stuck his chin in the air. “Co-president, thank you.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have bumped him up so quickly,” Gunn muttered. “It’s already gone to his head.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes and swung her head up to look at Wright. “It is for the best,” she said softly. “We’re just gonna have to help you get used to decisions being made for you when you work as a part of the whole.”

He was still pouting. “I don’t like it.”

“You can bring bite size, if you want,” Spike added.

“Rosalie on the Hellmouth? No thanks. I pass.”

“I’d watch after her for you,” Tara offered. “She’s adorable.”

“And you’re loony if you think the Slayer or I would let anythin’ happen to her,” Spike said. “I’ll guard her precious bones with my unlife.”

“Really, we’re going to have nothing going on here,” Cordelia said, disentangling herself from Wright and putting a space between them. “We’re still following up on that lead with the girl who disappeared, even though by now she’s probably been hacked to bits and made into people stew.”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Nice.”

“Hey, you drink blood. Don’t judge.”

Wright gave a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “Well,” he began, as though desperately trying to wrangle some semblance of control. “I guess it would be worth it to see all these people Spike keeps bitching about.”

Spike grinned at that. “Xander?”

“For starters.”

Buffy scowled and whapped him across the chest again. He laughed and kissed her cheek in turn. “Come on, love. It’s not like the whelp’s ever been my number one fan.”

Her scowl only deepened in the manner it did when she knew he was right.

“Xander’s not bad,” Tara said. “He’s just…loyal and protective.”

“Judgmental,” Spike corrected. “And a bloody hypocrite.”

“He’s not—”

“Oh, so I’m a bad guy ‘cause I got turned under circumstances that were bloody beyond my control, but his bird’s all right ‘cause she has an expiration date and a shiny pulse, but no soul along with it.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “And let’s not forget that she _volunteered_ for her gig, but she’s better than me? Right. Makes perfect sense.”

Tara glanced down again, mimicking Buffy’s ‘I know when I’m bested’ face. “He…he just doesn’t always have time to think logically.”

“Okay, it’s official.” Wright shook his head with a taut grin. “I have to meet this guy. At least I never discriminated. I just hated everything nonhuman.”

“And now Spike’s your best friend,” Cordelia added.

He rolled his eyes. “I swear to God…”

“That’s okay,” Buffy said. “Ass though he is, he’s kinda mine, too.”

Spike blinked at her, his throat suddenly dry.

“Not that I have anything against Wills and Xander,” she told him. “But you’ve kinda been bumped up.”

“That’s the way it should be,” Tara said with a nod. “Willow’s my best friend, and I like to think I’m hers, too. It only strengthens how much we love each other.”

Spike stared at Buffy a moment longer, then captured her mouth in a brief but intense kiss that would hopefully leave nothing to the imagination as to what he planned to do to her when they were alone again. “Well, that’s it,” he decided when they broke apart. “I got me my girl, my pride, and a chum to help me go back to a place I bloody despise. It’s all good, though, I think I’m ready.”

“Good.” The Slayer sighed, resting her chin on his shoulder. “I just wish I was. It’d be so much easier if I had an idea of what to expect.”

A still beat sizzled through the lobby. Spike glanced expectantly to those he had grown so close to, and as though the thought occurred to them all at once, a series of conspiratorial smiles sprouted to instantaneous life.

Gunn turned to Wesley. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“I believe we all are.”

More shared looks and grins.

Buffy turned to Spike, her eyes wide. “What? What is it?”

“A way,” he replied elusively.

“How?”

He just smirked but didn’t reply.

*~*~*

 

The next thing she knew, Buffy was sitting on stage before a crowd of demons with a microphone in her hand.

It was difficult to see with the mass concentration of spotlights and the like, but she knew Spike was out there watching her. Spike and everyone—lounged comfortably at the bar while she sat up here, rattled with nerves and ready to die for a third time at the thought of people hearing her sing.

He likely still had that insufferable smirk on his face.

She was _so_ going to let him have it.

“Don’t sweat it, lemon-drop,” the green demon had told her. Lorne. That was his name. The Host. Lorne. He was by far the kindest and most interesting non-vamp demon she had ever come across. “It’s a little intimidating for a first timer, but believe me, it’s a piece of red velvet cake once the spotlight hits you right.”

Evidently, the spotlight was off by several thousand light-years.

Then the music started playing and the words appeared on the teleprompter.

_Oh god oh god oh god…_

_“Love,”_ she heard herself sing, _“you didn’t do right by me. You planned a romance that just hadn’t a chance, and I’m through.”_

An aggravated grunt rumbled through the audience. Buffy straightened her shoulders and offered a smirk of her own as her eyes finally pierced the lights long enough to meet Spike’s. Apparently, he didn’t care for her choice of song. Well, served him right for making her sing.

_“Love, you didn’t do right by me. I’m back on the shelf and I’m blaming myself, but it’s you.”_

*~*~*

She’d selected that song on purpose. Just to rile him up. Bloody heartless vixen.

Spike shifted from foot to foot, crossed his arms, uncrossed them, and crossed them again. It was a dumb thing, really. Bloody ridiculous. But still, when a bloke gets everything he wants, bugger the odds, he couldn’t help but worry.

And Buffy looked much too satisfied with herself.

“Hey there, big guy.” Lorne handed him a Martini with a smile, seized his arm and steered him away from the others, who were whooping their encouragement to the Slayer. “Relax. You’re the last person she’s thinking about with those lyrics in mind.”

Spike barked a laugh, going for disaffected, then shook his head and gave up the pretense. “You’re sure? Think she was about to stake me when I told her what she had to do.”

“Trust me.” The Host tapped two fingers against his temple. “I’m sure. Besides,” he continued, “I think we can find certain audience members who better fit the lyrics. Say—and this is just a hunch—Tall Dark and Angelkins over there.”

Spike shot his head up, following the direction of Lorne’s gaze. Indeed, the grand prat himself had decided to make an appearance. He was lingering in the back, watching Buffy with a glowering guilt-filled gaze. And from the way he held himself, Spike knew that Angel was all too aware of their presence.

_That ballsy fucker._

Spike must have started forward, for the next thing he knew, the Host had put a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place.

“Hey, hey,” Lorne said. “Call off the militia, bro. As much as any of us would love to see a Spike-shaped fist breaking our boy’s face, this is a sanctuary and he’s as welcome as any of my other guests. Take some advice from McCartney and let it be.”

“He’s within thirty feet of the Slayer,” Spike snarled. “He came here knowin’—”

“That my sanctuary applies to the finest and the lowest, egg muffin. Little Buffalicious doesn’t even know he’s here.” Lorne waited a beat, then lowered his hand. “You have the high ground now. My advice: keep it. Just let it go and enjoy the show. You’re the one she loves. Trust me.” He tapped his head again. “I know.”

There was nothing quite like hearing someone else say those words. That and the fact that Lorne would know without a doubt did wonders in calming the beast in his chest. So Spike released a deep breath and nodded that he’d be a good boy. Then, calmer, he returned his attention to the stage.

 _“My one love affair didn’t get anywhere from the start. To send me a Joe who had winter and snow in his heart wasn’t smart…”_ Buffy met his eyes again, and while she was definitely the cutest thing he had ever seen, her nervousness had started working a number on him as well. To her credit, she was covering as well as she could—she already looked much more comfortable up there than she had at first. Spike reckoned he was the only one who knew her well enough to read the nerves that were still there.

He tossed another irritated glance to Angel. Perhaps not the only one.

 _“Love. You didn’t do right by me. As they say in the song…you done me wrong.”_ She offered an impish smile and he recognized the concluding chords. Finally. _“Yes, Mister Love. You done me wrong.”_

The song drew to a close and the whole of the bar dissolved in applause. Buffy smiled shyly and nodded her thanks before scampering off stage.

The second she was at his side, she grabbed him by the collar and jerked him toward her—not to snog, sadly, but to mutter, “Make me do that again and I will make your life a living hell.”

Spike couldn’t help it. He chuckled. “But you were so cute.”

“I don’t like you very much right now.”

“Rot. You love me.”

She sighed and pressed her brow to his shoulder. “Don’t remind me.”

He laughed again and wound an arm around her before bringing her in for a kiss. Hand her a stake and she was fearless. A microphone and she was all nerves.

“How about another hand for Little Miss Buff,” Lorne was saying on stage. “Wasn’t she a doll?” The crowd answered with a modest swell of applause. “I’m gonna go have a chat with our not-so-single white vampire. Meanwhile, we got Cordy and Zack the Hunter comin’ up to keep you company. Be gentle, kiddies. We’re dealin’ in a lot of Caritas virgins tonight.”

Spike arched an eyebrow as Cordelia grabbed Wright by the sleeve and forced him toward the stage. He caught a look at the bloke’s face and couldn’t help but grin.

This was fucking priceless.

“What do you think?” Gunn said as he, Wesley, and Tara migrated over. “‘Anything You Can Do’?”

“Close,” Lorne agreed, popping up from nowhere. “It’s a show tune. Their aura was so similar when they came in that I had Bobby whip them up a little something special.”

“Better.” Wesley shrugged. “I thought you might have paired them off with a Sonny and Cher number.”

“I’d say Simon and Garfunkel,” Tara volunteered. “But that’s just because I like ‘Mrs. Robinson’.”

A despondent look overcame the Host. “Damn. Now, why didn’t I think of that?”

The chords struck and the crowd fell quiet again as Cordelia wiggled her shoulders to get into the act. Wright was blank-faced and looked like he’d rather be hip-deep in demon innards.

But, being the team player that he was, he began singing when prompted.

 _“You'll have to be a little more standoffish,”_ he chimed, _“When fellers offer you a buggy ride.”_ He then frowned and leaned, gaze intent on the teleprompter and mouthed, confused, “Fellers?”

Spike grinned. Bloody priceless.

 _“I'll give a imitation of a crawfish,”_ Cordelia belted out, not well but with all the theatrics of a wannabe actress. _“And dig myself a hole where I can hide.”_

“What the fuck does that mean?” Wright demanded.

“Shut up and sing,” she shot back.

The Host shook his head. “Quite a pair, the both of them. Even I couldn’t have predicted that match.” He turned back to Buffy with a wry grin. “You did fine, blossom. Stop looking so glum.”

Spike tilted his head. “Can you tell us anythin’?”

“The strawberry is the only fruit that bears its seeds on the outside.”

 _“I heard how you were kickin' up some capers,”_ Wright continued on stage. _“When I was off in Kansas City, Mo. I heard some things you couldn't print in papers from fellers who been talkin' like they know!”_

Spike rolled his eyes. “How about somethin’ useful?”

Lorne grinned. “So sue the green guy for having a sense of humor.” He shook his head and turned to Buffy. “You got some times coming up ahead, cinnamon buns. Some are good, some are on the side of not. But you’ll always have people there along the way.” He nodded at Spike. “Just stick by them, and all should be a slice of apple-pie.”

 _“I only did the kind of things I oughta—sorta,”_ Cordelia retaliated in song, clearly getting more into the number. _“To any I was as faithful as can be—for me. Those stories 'bout the way I lost my bloomers—Rumors! A lot of tempest in a pot of tea!”_

And either at the words she’d sung or what was coming next, Wright seemed to relax and join her. The frown had faded from his face and he was looking more like he was enjoying himself. _“The whole thing doesn’t sound very good to me,”_ he told her.

_“Well you see…”_

The Slayer was still frowning, her gaze on Lorne. “Is there anything else?” she asked. “Like…everything has changed. Everything. And—”

“I can only tell you enough to get you on your way, strudels. Everything else is up to you.”

Spike snickered and leaned in to murmur, “Shoulda warned you, love. Big Green here’s not exactly keen on what the rest of society refers to as _details_.”

“And yet you made me sing,” she replied, though from her eyes, she was on the path to finding it funny now.

“There are a lot of conflicting pathways in the massive cream pastry of the universe, and you probably knew that,” the Host explained. “I’m not a mystic fortune teller, sugarbritches, and you know it. I just need to send you two on the right path.”

On stage, Zack had been given a lengthy piece of fast-spoken versed dialogue. He was all but tripping over himself to keep up. _“I go and sow my last wild oat and cut out all shenanigans. I save my money, don't gamble or drink in the back room down at Flannigans! I give up lotsa other things a gentleman never mentions, but before I give up anymore, I wanna know your intentions!”_

“The most I can tell you is that you’ve made the right decisions thus far. Now all you gotta do is avoid baby-faced doctors and tall towers.” Lorne smiled as though he had told a joke that no one understood. “The world will hand you a slice of fine and send you on your way if you let it. Your friends need to be trusted because they trust you with their lives. The whole of them, honey. Not just a few.”

 _“With me it's all or nothin’,”_ Wright was singing loudly. _“Is it all or nothin’ with you? It can’t be ‘in between’. It can’t be ‘now and then’. No half and half romance will do.”_

“Towers and doctors…” Buffy repeated with a frown. “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t worry, pumpkin. You will.”

_“If you can’t give me all, give me nothin’. And nothing’s what you'll get from me!”_

_“Not even something?”_ Cordelia protested in song.

_“Nothing’s what you’ll get from me!”_

Spike sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “This has all been very helpful. It has. Really. I’m not just saying that. But the thing is—”

“I know what the thing is, Spikelbum.” Lorne turned back to Buffy. “You’ve already given your gift, tootsie. Had you not, we might have reason to be worried. But it’s been given, whether or not you know it. And giving it twice wouldn’t do any good anyway. So, like I said, stay away from towers and baby-face doctors, and that will set you on your path.”

“ _Can we move into a house?”_ Cordelia was singing. _“All painted white? Make it ghost-clean and pretty and bright?”_

Wright leered at her. _“Big enough for only just us three?”_ he demanded in turn, indicating a small child with his free hand.

Cordelia arched an eyebrow. _“Supposing that we should have another?”_ she replied, miming a pregnant belly.

_“He better look a lot like me.”_

_“The spitting image!”_

_“He better look a lot like me!”_

Buffy pursed her lips. “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah. I can tell you one more thing.” The Host moved to cross between them, clamped a hand on the Spike’s shoulder. “Not to go all Tammy Wynette on you, pumpkin, but stand by your man. I guarantee he won’t let you down. Now, come on, Spikalicious. You’re on next.”

He blinked. “What?”

Gunn grinned, briefly jarred from the performance on stage and nudged the Slayer with a wink. “Oh, he’s gonna sing? You’ll fuckin’ love it.”

“Why do you bloody have to read me?” Spike demanded the Host.

“Because your lady’s future is tied in with yours, you big blond fluffball,” Lorne retorted boldly. “And I can’t read the first half of a good book without knowing how it ends.”

“Spike is going to sing?” Tara asked, tearing her eyes away from the spectacle at the front with some reluctance.

Buffy grinned. “Looks like.”

“I want everyone here to know that this is against my will.”

“I would request some Sinatra,” Wesley offered with a wry grin. “But I don’t think that would do any good.”

Spike pouted. “I hate you all.”

The Slayer leaned into his inviting arms to steal a kiss from his lips. “Not all of us, I’d hope. I’ve been wanting to hear you sing since you told me about the first time.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” She tugged at his collar again. “It’s sexy.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Well, told you I’d do whatever you want. If this is it…”

She nodded, and he could see it—the heat in her eyes. Christ, she was serious. The Slayer wanted to see him sing.

If she rewarded him the way he thought she might, he might never speak an actual word again.

 _“With you it's all or nothin’,”_ Cordelia was singing. _“All for you and nothin’ for me. But if a woman is wise, she'll realize that men like you are wild and free. So I’m not gonna fuss. I’m not gonna frown. Have your fun. Go out on the town. Stay up late and don't come home till three. And go right off to sleep if you're sleepy.”_ She leaned forward to pat his head. _“There's no use waiting up for me!”_

A frown befell Wright’s face. _“Oh come on, Cordy!”_

She had begun to move away, swaying teasingly to the music. _“No use waiting up for me.”_

His expression turned rakish, and he neared her like a predator. _“Come on and kiss me!”_

She almost made it, but he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to him without another beat. The crowd went wild. “No use waiting up for—”

He kissed her. And that was that.

“Woo!” the Host applauded, zipping back to the stage once more. “Someone get the hose, those two are on fire! Our next performer is no stranger to Caritas. You might remember him as the killer vamp with a heart of gold. Give up for Spike the Chipless Wonder!”

Spike gritted his teeth at the smattering of laughter that sounded from his mates, but when he caught sight of Buffy’s face, he couldn’t help but grin himself. And what the hell—the last time he’d been here, he’d been as on edge as a bloke could get. It seemed a million years had passed since then, and now he was with those he considered friends and…

And Buffy was looking at him like that.

He did have cause to celebrate. True bloody cause.

So sod it. He’d give the people what they wanted. He owed them.

And the looks he received the second the music hit the air was almost worth it all on its own.

“Charlie!” Spike yelled. “This one’s for you, mate! Don’t say I never did anythin’ for you!”

Through the haze of lights, he saw Gunn frown, confused, for a second before his face split into a shit-eating grin. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Tara asked loudly.

“He’s actually gonna do it!”

Right. If these folks wanted a show, he’d give them one. He raised the mic in time for his cue. _“On the floors of Tokyo-o. A-down in London town's a go go. A-with the record selection and the mirror's reflection, I'm a dancin' with myself!”_

“Dog, you ain’t got no reflection!” Gunn yelled over the music.

Spike answered him with a two-finger salute, not breaking away.

 _“A-when there's no one else in sight, a-in crowded lonely night. Well, I wait so long for my love vibration and I'm dancing with myself!”_ He began rocking now, because it was bloody impossible not to. Also because Buffy looked torn between laughing her pretty little head off and wanting to jump his bones, and both of those looks he found rather fetching.

 _“Oh oh, dancing with a-myself. Oh, oh, dancing with myself. Well, there's nothing to lose and there's nothing to prove, well, dancing a-with myself.”_ Spike paused and pointed at her, beckoning her to join him on stage.

Buffy stopped laughing and shook her head violently.

 _“If I looked all over the world and there's every type of girl.”_ He produced an exaggerated pout. _“But your empty eyes seem to pass me by and leave me dancin' with myself.”_

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him.

 _“So let's sink another drink ’cause it'll give me time to think. If I had the chance I'd ask the world to dance and I'll be dancin' with myself. Oh oh, dancing with a-myself, oh, oh, dancing with myself. Well, there's nothing to lose and there's nothing to prove, well, dancing a-with myself.”_ Spike eyed her again. _“Well if I looked all over the world and there's every type of girl. But your empty eyes seem to pass me by and leave me dancin' with myself.”_

This time she heaved a deep sigh, then shook her head and began making her way toward the stage. He beamed at her.

 _“So let's sink another drink ’cause it'll give me time to think. If I had the chance I'd ask the world to dance and I'll be dancin' with myself.”_ Spike kept his eyes on her as she stopped by the stage. There was little chance he’d get her to join him, but from here, the light in her eyes wasn’t obscured. Nor were the sweet, sinful moves that body of hers made when she started swaying to the beat. _“Oh oh, dancing a-with myself. Oh, oh, dancing with myself. If I had the chance I'd ask the world to dance. If I had the chance I'd ask the world to dance.”_ One more for the money. He tipped his head and belted out the final iteration with the vocals it deserved. _“If I had the chance I'd ask the world to daaaaance.”_

Then tossed the microphone aside, bounded to the ground and swooped her into his arms as the music continued pounding and the spectators broke into applause.

She grinned and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “That was a little too hot,” she murmured, her voice shaking a bit with laughter. “Not gonna lie. Little conflicted here.”

He chuckled. “I’ll sing all you bloody want me to.”

He looped an arm around her and they made their way to the others, who were still applauding and woof-whistling, and yeah, that felt good too.

More than that, it was fun. It was so much fun. And Spike didn’t have fun like this—there was the fun of his past, which usually involved blood of some kind, and the fun he made for himself. But not with others.

These past few days with Buffy, with everyone, had been the best of his life.

“Like I said,” Cordelia shouted over the music and the cheers. “You coulda made it big!”

“I can’t believe you finally sang Billy Idol!” Gunn yelled.

“Thought I should do what the audience wanted,” Spike retorted with a shrug. The Slayer had yet to let go of him and that was just fine with him. “Just this once.”

“You were great,” Buffy mumbled against his throat before pulling back to attack his lips with her own. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Everything.”

Spike smiled softly and held her to him. Oh yes.

Whatever they faced from there, it was worth it. Whatever Lorne told him, it was worth it. Whatever happened tomorrow, it was worth it. So worth it that he nearly forgot Angel had been a part of the crowd.

Nearly. The wanker was still skulking in the shadows in top level-brood mode. He didn’t look happy, and that made Spike bloody well ecstatic.

Because beyond the anger and the pain, beyond the need to rip the git limb from bloody limp, the urge to beat him to ujustfor what he had done, there was something else—something Spike couldn’t ignore. The knowledge that for the first time in his unlife, he had something the other bloke wanted.

That was a feeling a man could get used to.


	47. Ravages of Spirit

It didn’t really hit Spike that he was leaving until he pulled the Desoto in front of the Hyperion. There wasn’t much to pack, aside from Wright’s assortment of weapons. Spike hadn’t come here with but the clothes on his back and whatever had been in the trunk. Buffy, of course, had nothing at all. She was swimming a pair of too-large jeans that Cordelia had decided she didn’t want and wore one of Spike’s T-shirts.

That made him happier than it ought, knowing that she’d be wearing his clothes when she saw her chums again. Knowing that she knew it too.

"Don't let Nikki drive you too crazy while I'm gone," Wright said with a thin grin after Tara retreated upstairs to collect his sleeping daughter. "Trust me, if you think she's bad with supervision…"

Gunn rolled his eyes. "You're tellin' me she gets worse?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? I taught her well. Be glad she likes you guys."

Gunn shot a shocked look to Wesley. "She likes us?"

"She likes everyone except Spike and Buffy," Cordelia offered. "Well, she doesn't really blame Buffy for anything, but being a vamp by default…"

Buffy shrugged. "That's all right. Hell, that was me just…I guess a couple weeks ago." She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t believe that’s all it’s been.”

Spike threw an arm around her. “Been longer for me.”

She looked up at him, a ghost of a smile tickling her lips. “Me too.”

"Knowing your track record,” Gunn said, drawing attention back to him, “Nikki’ll likely fall head over for Angel."

Spike smirked. "Praise god. Those two bloody deserve each other."

Buffy rolled her eyes and jabbed him in the side before turning her attention back to the others. "Will one of you tell Lindsey thank you?" she asked. "If you see him again…I know we didn't exactly become bestest buds, but he did help us where it counted."

"Oh," Wesley replied with a wry grin, "I'm certain we will see Lindsey again. Despite however much we try, we can’t seem to shake him. Even after Angel chopped off his hand."

"Angel's the one that did that?"

Cordelia nodded. "Among other things."

"Ouch," Tara commented with a frown as she joined them, carrying a sleepy Rosalie. "Not to anything specific," she clarified when everyone looked at her curiously. "I just like my hands."

Wright smiled gently and held out his arms for Rosalie. Tara scowled and shook her head, instead moving to the car after she had waved at everyone with a shy farewell.

Spike chuckled. "Had to raise a bloody charmer, didn’t you?"

"At least I did something right,” Wright replied, scrubbing a hand down his face.

Things grew silent then for a long minute. Then Cordelia centered her gaze on Spike.  "Are you sure?"

She was very careful, he saw, not to look at Buffy.

Spike exhaled slowly and glanced to the Slayer. "Yeah, pet," he said. "I'm sure."

"Well, then, come here, you big dope." Cordelia opened her arms wide and took him into a massive bear hug. "Argh, you're gonna make my eyeliner run."

"So sorry."

"You know you're welcome back anytime, okay?"

Spike nodded, moving back. "Yeah. And trust me, I'll be takin' you up on that."

"We'll kick Angel out and everything." She pulled back, wiping her eyes and looking very irritated because of it. "Not for good, you know. Just so you two don't kill each other."

"What happened to the group consensus idea?" Wesley demanded.

Wright shrugged. "I'm partner and I have one of our most valuable employees on our side. Fuck consensus."

"Make that three against one." Gunn flashed Spike a grin. "'Sides, the missus ain't gonna let you up here all that often."

Buffy shifted. "Hey. I'm gonna miss you guys too. And…Spike can come here whenever he likes."

"I know, girl. Just hassling you."

"Stop hasslin' my lady," Spike said good-naturedly. "That's my job."

"You're not helping, you know," she groused.

"Well, he's gonna have to come back," Gunn decided. "After what we saw earlier tonight, Lorne's likely gonna try to book you once every other weekend. Man, I still can't believe you finally did Billy—"

"Oi, knock it. Thought that would shut you up."

“Then you clearly don’t know Gunn,” Cordelia replied.

“I’m gonna start makin’ requests,” Gunn agreed.

"Thanks ever so."

Buffy released a chuckle and wrapped an arm around Spike's middle. She did that frequently now, and he wasn’t sure if she knew she was doing it, or how much it meant to him. These little touches, caresses, the way she seemed to crave physical contact…

Well, it damn sure was a pleasant distraction from the dread seizing his insides that intensified as they grew closer to goodbye. It wasn't as though he hated Sunnydale—well, it was, but the town had given him a lot of good to go with the never-ending bad. He did like the reliable stream of chaos—kept things from getting dull most of the time. And, of course, without Sunnydale, he wouldn’t have Buffy. And despite the years of misery that had descended upon him after they’d first met, right now, he could say that plowing down that insipid sign had been the best bloody thing that had ever happened to him.

But Sunnyhell also had the Scoobies. And that might have been fine were it not for the fact that Buffy was going to tear herself up about seeing them, even though she pretended otherwise. She was nervous—both about revealing what she was now and about revealing what _they_ were. Because no matter sodding what, the opinions of those wankers mattered to her. And as nice as Willow and Tara were, as fucking hilarious as Anya was, Spike knew he wasn’t welcome. He would never be one of them. And he hadn’t realized how much he wanted that—if not being one of them, then being accepted by them—until coming here.

Where he actually had mates of his own. People who liked him, wanted him to stay. It was almost like having a family. And that was something he hadn’t had, really, since before his human death.

He didn't want to leave. Not if he was truly honest with himself.

And they weren't making it easy.

"Hey," Buffy murmured, nudging him. "You okay?"

Spike forced a weak smile to his lips. "Yeah, love. Never better." He nodded to the others, clearing his throat. "Well, guess this is it."

Wesley furrowed his brow. "Don't feel the need to get overly emotional."

"I just don' do goodbyes very well." He offered the former Watcher a dry grin. "But I do…at the risk of makin' Cordy here even more blubbery than she is now—"

"I'm not blubbery," Cordelia sniveled pitifully.

Spike's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not!"

"Right. But…" A sigh commanded his throat. "You…the lot of you useless wankers…" Right. Didn’t have anything to follow that up with. After a few unsuccessful attempts at humor, he deflated, gave up, and settled instead for the plain truth. "Okay, here it goes. I…you all have been bloody great. It’s been…workin' with you…" _Bugger all_. "Don't make me say it!"

"We know, man," Gunn said, clapping him on the shoulder. "It's more than mutual."

"I wish there was some arrangement we could come to," Wesley said. "You have proven more than just a strong colleague, Spike. You're a vital asset to the team as well. We've grown…accustomed to your face."

“And thank you, Professor Higgins.” Spike smirked when Wesley’s eyes widened. Then he swallowed and nodded. "Thanks. The lot of you haven't been half-bad, either."

Gunn sighed dramatically and shook his head. "Man," he complained, "you're throwing our entire system out of whack."

A scowl darkened Buffy's face. "Are you all trying to make me feel guilty?"

Wesley, Gunn, and Cordelia exchanged looks.

"Is it working?" Wesley wondered.

"Yes."

Spike snickered and rolled his eyes. "Stop givin' my lady grief."

"That's your job," Cordelia replied with a weak grin.

"Bloody right."

Buffy released a long breath. "Well," she said, "nothing is ever final, you know. I owe you all so much. It’s…too big to think about right now. With everything else I have to think about. So…can you live with we’ll talk about it?"

The thought alone was enough knock him off his bloody feet. Fuck, even if nothing ever came of it, that she would say it at all hit him hard. "It’s a nice thought," he replied. "But I couldn't take you from your mates."

"So it's fair that I take you from yours?"

"She makes a good point," Gunn said.

Wright nodded. "Very good."

"Very, very good," Cordelia agreed.

It was Wesley's turn. He shrugged after he realized that all were looking at him. "I would add my encouragement, but I thought it would be highly redundant."

That didn't rest well with Cordelia, who pouted and turned her eyes to Buffy. "Come _on._ It's not like Sunnydale is that far away."

"Watch it," Zack warned, holding up a hand. "That argument can be used for either side." He turned to Spike with a wan smile. "We really better be going."

"Yeah. I just…"

"You're not getting away this easily," Cordelia argued. "We won't give up until you're on the payroll."

"Appreciate the sentiment, pet."

"It's not all sentiment." She turned to Buffy. "You…you take care of him, all right?"

The Slayer smiled and nodded, ignoring the mock-offended look Spike shot her way at the notion that he needed a keeper. "Don't worry, Cordy. I know what I have."

"Good." Cordelia hesitated at that, then offered a genuinely warm smile. "You're not as lame as I remember."

"You're not as bitchy."

"I can be."

Buffy grinned. "I don't doubt it."

"Good. You shouldn't." Cordelia tilted her head. "We could be friends, you know."

Gunn nodded. "Girl, you got some real muscle. I'm all down with the slayer stuff and whatnot, but damn. It's gonna be rough adjustin' to you not being around."

She arched an eyebrow. "You haven't even seen me in action."

"Really, you haven't," Spike agreed. "She's bloody poetry in motion."

Gunn shrugged, undeterred. "All the more reason to come back, is what I'm sayin'."

"We don't need a reason like that."

"It's better than none." He favored her with a sincere smile and nodded. "It's been fun gettin' to know you, Buff. You're everything he said, plus some."

A smile rose to her lips and she shifted from one foot to the other. "Gee," she said, "you guys make it sound like we're never gonna see you again."

"With another apocalypse potentially on the home front, one can never be too sure," Wesley observed.

"Touché."

Spike nodded and turned to steer the Slayer toward the car. "Speakin' of," he said, "we better be headin' out. Don't burn the place down or what all without my stunnin' guidance to keep the lot of you from makin' right asses of yourselves."

"Don't worry," Cordelia replied. "We'll have Angel back, soon."

He smirked in turn. "All the more reason to head out now rather than later."

"Well, if he doesn't come back 'cause of his guilt trip, you owe us one vampire," Gunn observed. "Any volunteers?"

Wright snickered. "You really don't mind pushing it, do you?"

"Not even a little bit."

Zack chuckled. "I would say goodbye," he noted, "but I'm gonna be back soon, so there's really no point. Go in, kick some ass, get out. The norm."

"Sounds reasonable," Wesley agreed.

"Just don't take too long," Gunn added. "We don't wanna have to deal with your little sis-in-law solo longer than needed if you catch my drift."

Wright smiled. "She's actually all right if you give her a chance to be. She learned right alongside me everything she knows. Give her something sharp and tell her where to aim it. That oughta keep her happy."

Cordelia offered a wan smile and stepped forward. "You sure this isn't just a clever way to escape?" she jested. "I mean, you get the world's most popular vamp, Rosalie, and a bail-on-Nikki card. You're really coming back?"

He looked at her for a long minute. It was evidently a beat longer than she had anticipated. Cordelia furrowed with defense. "Zack!"

A wide grin broke across his face and he leaned in to kiss her. "I'm coming back," he promised with a wink. "Gotta be here for all my girls, right?"

She made a face at him. "Whatever."

"Right." He circled the car to the back seat, his eyes still on her. "I'll be back."

"So you keep saying."

"I will be."

Spike snickered and shook his head, breaking in a beat to wave. "Bye," he offered blandly. "Have fun, keep busy, don't die, and all that rot."

"Yeah, man," Gunn retorted. "Love you too."

"Aw, Charlie. I didn't know you cared!"

That earned an eye roll. "God, it's gonna be worth it to get rid of you if only to not hear that—"

"See ya later, Charlie," Zack yelled loudly. "You too, Wes."

"Good luck," Wes offered in turn.

Spike and Buffy disappeared into the Desoto with a final wave before the goodbyes grew out of hand. But Wright lingered a moment, then turned back to Cordelia.

"I'll be back," he promised one last time. "'Cause I love you."

*~*~*

The words had barely left his lips before he disappeared into the backseat of the monstrosity Spike called a car. The engine had revved by the time she shook herself to her senses, and the Desoto had pulled away at an uncanny speed before she could scream her fury at Wright for telling her like that.

Gunn and Wesley, however, were laughing.

"Dude’s gonna get it when he gets back," Gunn said, shaking his head.

"I daresay we might collaborate on his to-do list," Wesley agreed before turning to her. "You all right, Cordelia?"

She didn't answer. She was staring at the abandoned path where the Desoto had sat just seconds before.

"Cordelia?"

Nothing. Then she blinked and turned to him.

"Everything all right?" he asked again.

"All right?" she repeated. "All right?! That little sucker didn't even let me… I swear I'm gonna…" She stopped herself before a tangent could erupt from her lips, flexed her hands mechanically, and flashed a brilliant smile. "Oh yeah, I'm all right. But he's so gonna get it when he comes back."

"Yeah," Gunn retorted. "I'll bet."

"And not the good kind of 'get it'."

"Oh, I know. I learned not to cross you a long time ago."

She smiled and they turned as one back to the hotel.

The hotel that was emptier now than it had been in what seemed like forever.

"All right, guys." Cordelia tossed an arm over either of her colleagues' shoulders. This was what they did. This was what they were good at. The world on their heels at all times. "What's next?"

*~*~*

The highway was a dark blanket of endless wet pavement, glimmering to the occasional streetlight. Buffy didn't know when it had rained—possibly on the outskirts of town while they had been at Caritas. Either way, it didn't seem to matter. All that mattered now was the road ahead. The one that led home.

_Home._

"Jodie Foster who was in _Silence of the Lambs_ with Anthony Hopkins who was in _Howard's End_ with Emma Thompson who was in _Much Ado About Nothing_ with Kenneth Branagh who was in _Love's Labour's Lost_ with Mathew Lillard," Wright proclaimed proudly, sitting back and shooting a triumphant look at Tara.

"You do realize," Spike drawled, "that two of the flicks you just named were adaptations of Shakespearean plays."

Wright shrugged. "Your point being?"

"That you're a bit dainty for a demon hunter."

"Hey, you knew what they were, too," he retorted. "I wouldn't be calling anything black, Mr. Pot."

"Are you insinuatin' what I think you're insinuatin'?"

Wright grinned. "Well, I am now.”

Buffy shook her head with a short laugh. "You two are impossible."

"Yeah," Spike agreed. "We're gonna drive Harris up the wall."

"Everyone's gonna be so glad to see you," Tara voiced from the back, absently stroking loose strands of hair from Rosalie's eyes and nodding at Buffy. The child was still fast sleep. "Dawn and Joyce… They've been so worried. And Giles…"

A long sigh forced itself through Buffy's lips and she offered a weak nod. "It will be nice to see them," she said.

And it was true. Mostly.

True all except for the spool of dread that she had managed to push aside for the past few days. The same that was growing now with every mile that brought them closer to Sunnydale.

As if sensing her sudden mood swing, Spike flashed her a concerned glance and reached over to squeeze her knee. Buffy felt her insides melt. She knew he loved her; he said it with practically everything he did. It was easy to be with him—so much easier than she would have ever suspected. And she loved him completely. He was the first man that had ever been in her life as a friend and a lover. He was the only one who wanted both sides—all sides—to her. The Slayer included.

He was the normal she had always wanted. The normal she thought she had with Riley, but hadn't. Riley had loved her and wanted to play the friendship card as well, but the Slayer got in the way. The Slayer had foiled their relationship. The Slayer was what had separated her from ever having normal. And now she had it with the least normal man on the planet in the least normal way possible.

"Buffy, love?" he asked gently. "Are you all right?"

She blinked and shot him a forced smile. The look of concern failed to fade from his eyes; he clearly didn't believe her, but nodded all the same, turning his attention back to the road.

They were going back. To Sunnydale. The town that was still there after all that had happened. To the life she had known for so long, yet seemed so detached from. Her room would be the same. Her walls would still flourish with all those teeny bop posters she had never gotten around to removing. Her bed wouldn't have changed. Her clothing would still be there, and she was willing to bet Mr. Gordo waited faithfully by the pillow where she had left him the morning before Darla and Drusilla had blown into town and knocked her routinely stable, if not a little bizarre, life fully out of whack.

For the first time in days, her defenses crumbled and she saw Angelus as he had been. And her body ached with the thought of it.

It was the non-reality she had warned Wright about. And it was coming back.

Because soon, the reality she had left behind would be back as well. And her two worlds would collide on a battleground of showdowns. In the car were those she had with taken with her. Buffy the Vampire alongside her two sires, one in deed and the other in action. With Spike, the vampire that none of her friends approved of.

Seeing them would make everything even realer than it had been. Her scattered between versions of herself. Her duty. Her never-ending duty. The calling that was supposed to relieve her with death. And Glory. And whatever came after Glory.

Always tied back to the same old.

This one fight wasn't in her anymore.

And still, there was Spike, who was and wasn’t the same guy she’d known before. There was the LA Spike, the one who had risked everything for her, and the guy in her memories.  The one she’d greeted with an eye roll and an insult. Ignoring him when he tried to help her. Hitting him when it pleased her to do so. And yes, while the monster part of her man was something she would always have to remember, she had seen true monstrosity now. She had been commanded to scream under its influence.

Spike had none of that in him. That was as clear to her as anything ever had been.

And he had become so important to her in such a short amount of time. Yes, she would survive without him. That was what she did best. Survived. But her life would be something she didn't want it to be.

She had barely escaped her relationship with Angel with her heart intact. She didn’t want to think about what might happen the day she woke up in a world without Spike in it.

The Buffy that had been taken from the safety of her routine would never have allowed Spike to touch her the way he had. To talk to her like a person. Like he mattered. The Buffy of Before would have resented the crap out of him. She had already hated him for being there when no one else was, for listening when no one else would. For sitting on the porch with her while she cried for her mother. For consoling her on a patrol when life was catching up with her. The Buffy of Before would never have made love with him the way she did. The Buffy of Before would have cheated herself of the real thing.

And now they were going back to where the Buffy of Before lived, and though she knew she was in charge of her own destiny, she couldn’t help but fear that the Buffy of Before would show her head whenever it was most convenient.

But god, for her sake, for Spike's sake, she couldn't let that happen. It couldn't become like that. The man at her side had fought long and hard for her. Their relationship was not going to be hidden in shadows. He would not be her guilty pleasure. She would not let her intimidation dictate what she told her friends. Buffy was in love with Spike, and whoever didn't accept him didn't accept her, either.

A shudder curled her spine.

He had given up so much. His friends. Those that did accept him. The unlikely alliance he had formed with everyone at Angel Investigations. His friendship with Cordelia. The teasing barbs he exchanged with Gunn. The bookish intellect she had watched him share with Wesley. And Wright. The man in the backseat who was animatedly discussing the principles of a good football game with a thoroughly disinterested Tara. While she didn't know the whole of their relationship, she knew enough to understand that it had begun on unstable ground only to form into a true friendship. She hadn't known Spike to have any male friends, much less close ones. And while he jested at the notion that Zack favored him above all his other chums, she knew he was secretly thrilled to be viewed that way. To be that important to others—not because of what he was or what he could do, but for who he was.

He was giving up so much for her. Friends. Acceptance. All factors owning into his personal happiness.

Buffy bit her lip in thought, settling back into the seat.

It wasn't fair.

"I spy with my little eye something that begins with an 'R'," Tara was saying when Buffy finally snapped back to the present.

"Rosalie," Wright and Spike answered in virtually identical monotones.

Tara blinked. "How did you—"

"Because you've been lookin' at nothin' else since we left the bloody hotel," the vampire retorted with a wry grin, glancing at the rearview mirror. "I can see you, you know. The entire backseat of my car does pick up a reflection."

Tara pouted and sat back. "Cheater."

"Oi! How'd I cheat?"

"You forget that we don't have the comfort of a no reflection policy," Wright observed.

"Yeah, Zangy, aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Lorne did, actually," Spike replied. "Said I'd already managed to conquer the bloody impossible. Got a righteous anti-vamp demon hunter to play the part of my best mate in My Life As A Sodding Sitcom alongside my girl, the now-vampiric vampire Slayer who, beyond my yen, actually loves me back." He flashed her an affectionate smile that she returned best she could. And she saw it again—that spark of concern—but he did not dwell on it, though she knew he would when they were alone. "I won over Angel’s pals and have a standing invite to crash their party, and I got to be the hero for once."

"That's what he told you?" Tara asked.

Spike shrugged. "That was the jist. He basically whapped me upside the head and told me it was real. Get bloody used to it. Guess I kept expectin' to wake up." He glanced into the rearview mirror again. "He have anythin' to tell you and Cordy?"

Wright shook his head. "No. Well, nothing I understood."

"Bloody figures."

Buffy fidgeted a bit but said nothing. Spike glanced at her again; no words were exchanged, though she couldn’t miss the concern burning in his eyes.

"You think we can pull off at the next exit?" Tara asked suddenly. "Potty break for us mortals?"

Wright's eyes widened as though he realized that he had been overdue for one as well. "I second that motion."

"Yeah, sure thing." Spike tossed Buffy an amused look and rolled his eyes playfully. "Sodding ninnies."

She shrugged. "Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go."

"Amen, sistah!" Zack said.

"And I gotta go," Tara agreed. "As soon as possible would be preferable."

Spike nodded at the upcoming mileage sign. "We're less than a half hour away from Sunnyhell," he complained. "Can't you two…y'know…hold it?"

"Hold it?" they echoed in horrified unison.

Buffy placed a hand on her vampire’s wrist and he sighed. "Right," he grumbled. "Right. The two of you are lucky the lady's got a heart of bloody gold."

"Thanks, Buffy!" Tara chirped.

Spike smirked. "Yeah, thanks."

"Oh, hush. I haven't been dead as long as you have. I remember the pains of needing to go."

"Ah, well. Could use a bloody nightcap, anyway. Figure I need to be good and sloshed before I try to face the Scoobs, right?"

The reminder sent more shivers across her skin, but she forced a smile all the same. "Oh yeah. There's a good impression. 'Hey, Mom? Remember the drunk, unstable vampire that used to hang around and steal all our little marshmallows? Yeah, he's my boyfriend now.’”

Spike adapted the most ridiculously adorable look she’d ever seen. "'Boyfriend,'" he repeated merrily. "I bloody love that word."

"You're such a dork," Wright complained.

"This comin' from the bloke who just used the word _dork_. How old are you again?"

Buffy wrinkled her nose and twisted in her seat to look at him. "Yeah," she agreed. "That was a freakishly good impersonation of my sister."

"I don't care. He's a dork." Wright shook his head. "I can't believe you're the same vampire I did so much reading on."

Spike waved a hand dismissively. "Books are overrated."

"They said you were one of the most dangerous vampires in history."

Spike frowned, then sat up a little straighter, his eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas. "Really? They said that 'bout me?"

Wright snorted. "Yeah. Sure. Right under 'infinitely pussy-whipped.'"

"Zack!" Tara admonished.

"What can I say, sweetheart? Goes with the territory."

"I believe I've been insulted," Buffy observed.

"That's it," Spike grumbled. "I’m rippin' your testicles off and shoving 'em down your throat."

"Hey! That's not nice!"

"Well, apparently, I'm not nice."

Zack rolled his eyes. "Yeesh. Mr. Snippy."

Buffy and Spike exchanged a long, amused glance before simultaneously cracking up.

"What?" Wright complained. "I don't get it."

"Bloody hell, you've become Mr. Cordelia," Spike said between laughs.

There was an uncomfortable pause. "I have not."

"The next time we see him," Buffy added, "he'll be wearing heels and reading those magazines that she sent him all over downtown LA to find."

"I hear that, love."

"I have not become Mr. Cordelia."

Tara scowled and covered Rosalie's ears. "Shh!" she hissed. "Sleeping child!"

Wright shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he replied. "That girl can sleep through anything."

"'It’s a good thing too," Spike observed, pulling into the first fill-up station he saw off the exit ramp. "Buffy and I can get kinda noisy."

"We know," the two in the back echoed together.

Buffy crossed her arms and sank into her seat, ignoring the winning smile Spike sent her way as the others piled outside and into the service station. She waited a moment, then followed Spike as he stepped out of the car and approached the pumps.

“We low?” Buffy asked, leaning against the hood of the car.

Spike shrugged. "Not particularly, but might as well fill up. We'd make it to SunnyD all right, but it’s gonna need it here before long."

She must have gone rigid at the mention of their destination again, for the next thing she knew, she had been pulled into a protective embrace, Spike’s soothing hands gently caressing her temples and neck.

“Buffy…”

"Hmmm?" He could do that with his hands from here until forever and she’d be totally okay with that.

"Sweetheart, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Buffy froze. "What makes you think there's anything wrong?"

"Well, there's the fact that I've got eyes," Spike replied. "Even ears, if you can imagine that. Plus, it’s bloody obvious."

She wrinkled her nose. "How obvious?"

"So obvious that I’m willin' to wager that Zangy and Glenda's bathroom break's gonna take a lot longer than planned, seein' as I rather doubt they needed to go that badly to begin with."

"They set us up?"

He shrugged. "It’s just a hunch. I think whatever 'business' they have to do inside coulda waited a half-hour. Bugger little things like comfort. Zangy's a demon hunter—he's trained for self-control. Tara fancies a bit of hocus-pocus every now and then. You do the math." The cool comfort of his palm found her cheek, sweeping through her hair once more as his lips caressed her forehead. "Just…talk to me, baby. Please. We can't start this now. Tell me what's wrong."

A sigh trembled through her body. There was no sense hiding it. "I'm afraid."

"Yeah, that much I got." He kissed her forehead again, lingering a little longer this time. "Is it Glory?"

"No. I…it's everything." Buffy's eyes drifted shut and she allowed herself to rest against him. "It's becoming real again. Everything's becoming real. The closer we get…" She sighed. "I'm afraid of Sunnydale."

He paused, then chuckled. "There's a bloody first."

"Not the town, Spike. The everything that goes along with it."

She felt him stiffen again. "You're afraid of what the Scoobies will say," he murmured into her hair. "'Bout you and me…and us."

"The vamp thing will be blamed on you."

He shrugged. "I expected it."

"It's not fair."

"Love, you didn't turn you into a vampire."

"No. And neither did you. Zack did."

He snorted. "That won't fly with the lot of 'em and you know it. He kinda lacks the essentials—for instance, fangs and a nasty aversion to sunlight and crosses. Plus, he has a pulse."

"And even if he says he's responsible, they won't buy it."

"No, baby, they won't. But it’s all right."

Buffy shook her head against him. "It's not. It's not all right. Nothing ever…" She paused to catch herself, everything rushing to her mouth at once. "I might have changed, but they won't. They never will. They'll always hate you and they'll never shy to tell you how much. And I can't stand that. You and me and the 'together' thing, it's great. It's more than great. It's… I love you."

"I love you, too. So bloody much."

"Enough to do this?"

Spike stiffened again. "Do what? I'm not followin'."

"This.” She inhaled deeply. “You, me, Sunnydale. You and I have never done the 'you and I' thing in Sunnydale."

There was a long pause. "I might be a dolt, but I think even a bloody rocket scientist would have trouble followin' you around that bend, love. Are you sayin' you think I won't want you when—"

"No. Not that." She shook her head and cursed her lack of knowing how to best use words. "I'm taking you away from everything you want."

"Are you takin' me away from you?"

"No."

"Then I don' see what the problem is." He pulled away slightly so he could meet her eyes. "Buffy, being in Sunnydale's not gonna change how I feel. I've felt this way for a long bloody time. Long before my relatives decided to muck with your life. I went to Wanker Investigations for one purpose: you. I got you. Hell, I got you in ways I never bloody thought possible. I'm a happy bloke." He paused—the sort of silence that did not lend time for interruption. "Your mates won't be happy with this. I know that. They won't be happy that you're suddenly room temperature and definitely when they figure out who's to blame. They won't like that you love me, especially when news 'bout me being chipless hits the streets. Is that what you're worried about, pet? Me and—"

"No. I told you…as far as the chip goes, I trust you." She smiled. "You've gone to some pretty incredible lengths to keep me from getting hurt, Spike."

"And you'd be hurt if I hurt someone else."

"You're a smart cookie."

"This is what I'm saying."

Buffy looked at him for a long, moment before her smile faded and she glanced down, nibbling thoughtfully on her lip. "And when the day comes that that's not enough?" she asked softly. "I have forever, and that's what I want with you. The full-time commitment thing. I know that. And hey—talk about gun-jumping. We haven't even been together that long and I already want the full shebang."

"I—"

"But I'm not the long-haul girl. Everyone in my life has been pretty adamant on letting me know that." Dammit. Now she was crying. She hated crying, but with her emotions as they were, she had little control over the waterworks. "I have forever to live, Spike. And forever's a pretty long time to be alone. What happens when you resent me for keeping you from what you want? What happens when you realize that I've done nothing but held you back? What happens when you don't love me anymore and you leave me like everyone else?"

That was it. She had officially rendered him speechless.

When he finally did speak, it was with anger. "You. Daft. Bint."

"Don't. It's a valid question."

"The hell it is."

"Spike—"

"I don't know what you make of me, Buffy, but I am not one of the tossers you've known in the past. You say it's forever for you? It's bloody well forever for me too." He snarled, and for a moment, she thought he might lose control and vamp, but he didn’t. Just barely. "God, you're infuriatin'. You really have so little faith in me? That I—"

"I'm not—"

"The long-haul girl. Yeah. Heard you the first time. And you know what? Bull bloody shit. I was with Dru for a fucking century. You think anyone ever thought of her as a long-haul girl? And what I felt for her was a bloody fraction compared to what I feel for you." He shook his head. "Vamps aren't supposed to be monogamous, love. I am. Always bloody well have been. And I don't do somethin' if I don't want to. If I'd wanted to stay in LA, I would've. Simple as that. You couldn't make me move if I didn't want to. The only place I wanna be is with you, and if you don't get that by now, I don't know what to do." He paused and shook his head, barking a humorless laugh. "And here, you'd think I'd be the one worried that you don't take our relationship as seriously as I do. Unbloodybelievable. I love you, Buffy. I love you too fucking much to ever give you up. There's no place you could go that I wouldn't find you and no place that I wanna go without you with me. Bugger your friends, bugger _my_ friends. They have nothin' to do with us. I won't let them intimidate me as long as you keep up your end."

"I—"

"Meaning we do this, it’s together. I'm not gonna be working for shit here while you sit back and kick up your heels." He shook his head with conviction. "It’s real, baby. Everything that happened is real. But I won't let you go through it again. I'd wrestle the devil himself if it meant I could make it all go away. I can't. But I'm here. And I'll do whatever it takes."

The underlying story in his eyes told her everything needed to know and more. There was something about a person's eyes that refused to hide anything. He was like that; in words and passion. Perhaps if he had the means, he would conceal what he felt. He couldn't and she wouldn't have him so. There was a difference between knowing what one said and meaning it—he had them both.

And it dawned on her without anything else at all. The knowledge that she had been searching for since before she knew what it was that she needed.

This was it. Despite whatever happened from here on out, this was it. This was her it. The reason the others had left her layered with the understanding that she had never experienced the crucial _it_ before. She had now.

He was still on his tangent when she grabbed him. He even got in a few muffled words after she pulled him to her and ravaged his mouth with everything she felt. It only took a second before he moaned into her with the rawness of his feeling and pulled her to him, tangling his fingers in her hair and giving her back everything she gave him.

Strength now. They could do this. They could face the past and start a future. They could know heat in the middle of a winter storm. For all that was behind them, there was only ahead.

Spike pulled back and smiled into her eyes, caressing her cheek. "'The changes that she brings are without respite,'" he quoted softly. "'It is a necessity that makes her swift; and for this reason, men change state so often.'"

The words were hauntingly beautiful, but they were kissing again before she could question their origin. It didn't matter. Another time.

Her new reality began now.


	48. Bring on the Rain

The Sun was still showing the Jim Carrey movie she and Willow had boycotted. Her favorite strip-malls were exhibiting the same sales. The diner she and Willow often chose for coffee had the same worn specials scribbled on the front chalkboard. As though time had stopped the moment she was taken. Stopped and somehow gone on. Existed without existing.

The thought sent shivers down her spine.

A hand found on her shoulder and squeezed.  She tossed Spike a grateful smile and nodded, intertwining her fingers through his.

“So,” Wright said from the back, “this is it, huh? Home sweet Hellmouth.”

“That’s actually what we call it,” Tara said.

“Wow…that’s sad.”

Spike snickered and shook his head. “You’re tellin’ me.”

“So where’s the Casa de la Summers?” Wright continued, leaning forward to get a better view of the town. “Your family have an extra room, or will I have to cough up enough to put me and Pigtails up for the night?” He flashed a quick glance at Tara. “I would ask you, but I think that’d be too forward.”

Spike tossed a mildly amused look into the rearview mirror. “What about me?” he demanded with a mock-pout. “You wouldn’t even deign to ask your _best friend_?”

“Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Not for this lifetime.”

“Well, anyway, _pal_ ,” Wright drawled, “I figured you were staying with your sweetie-pie since you two have practically been joined at the hip since you…well…joined.” He made an unpleasant face and survived a well-deserved thwap from Tara. “And since I don’t wanna be anywhere near that room of sin, I was just wondering if there was a spare or if the local motel has a vacancy.”

Buffy pursed her lips at that, hazarding a glance in Spike’s direction. “Actually,” she said hesitantly, “you can take my room.”

Wright’s gaze went wide and his hands came up in protest. “Whatever kinky sex games you two have planned, keep me out of it.”

“The Slayer’s stayin’ with me tonight,” Spike told him, rolling his eyes. “You only wish you could get that lucky, mate.”

Tara frowned. “Staying with you? I-in the graveyard?”

“It’s not as serial killer as it sounds,” Buffy said with a shrug. Then she paused. “Well, not as much as it could be, I guess.”

Spike snickered. “Your vouch of good faith is all a bloke needs nowadays.”

“Hey, give me some credit. Not long ago, even mention of a Thriller-style slumber party would’ve been stake-worthy.”

He grinned in turn. “That’s my girl. Always finding the half-full.”

“Well, I wasn’t the nicest person to you—”

“We’ve already covered this, love,” he replied, holding up a hand. “All’s well that ends well…and your end is definitely well.”

She smirked and whacked his arm.

“Might I observe that it hasn’t ended at all?” Wright volunteered. “We still have some mystic bitch to fight that you managed to go the entire trip without talking about.”

“It’s called avoidance, Zack,” Buffy replied. “If I don’t see it, it doesn’t exist.”

Spike tossed her an amused glance. “Tell me one time that philosophy has worked. Any time will do. And isn’t that how that one bird turned into inviso-girl?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Angel tends to talk when he’s evil, as I’m sure you noticed.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed under her breath. “Amongst other things.”

Spike instantly sobered, his eyes flooding with regret at having said anything at all. “Buffy—”

“Nope. It’s a thing that happened. I’m dealing with it in my own way. It’ll just take time.” She squeezed his hand. “Not allowed to wig out every time I mention it, or you make me remember. It’s not exactly something I ever forget.”

He swallowed audibly, then nodded.

There was an uncomfortable beat of silence.

“About Glory,” Tara said boldly, turning back to Wright, “we’ll give you the basics and stuff when we get to Buffy’s. I’m sure Giles can explain it better than anyone here. Plus, the Council told us more after we arrived in England. A lot more.”

Buffy and Spike traded another long look. Unfortunately, this did not go unnoticed by Wright.

“What?” he demanded. “What’s going on? What do you two know that we don’t?”

Buffy nibbled her lip and drew in a deep breath, turning in her seat. “Well, we talked while you guys were making with the potty break. And…when we said that I’m staying with Spike…it sort’ve means I’m not going home tonight. At all. We’re just dropping you guys off, then we’re heading to his place.”

“You’re not going in?” Tara asked, frowning. “Not even to say hi?”

She shook her head. “You know as well as I do that if I walk in that door, it’s going to be a shit-show. Especially if I told them I was crashing at Spike’s without explanation. I’m just not ready yet. And I need tonight to get ready. Just one more night to myself.” There was a second’s hesitation. “To _ourselves_.”

The two in the back exchanged a long glance.

“You know,” Wright observed, “this is gonna make them even more nervous. Are you sure you’re just not avoiding the entire thing purposefully?”

“No. That’s sort’ve the point.”

Spike tossed an annoyed look into the mirror. “The Slayer’s made her decision, so drop it.”

Tara released a long breath. “What happens when they ask where you are and why I came home with a strange man and not…well…you?”

There was another pause at that. Buffy looked at Spike, and when he flashed her an encouraging smile, she nodded. “Tell them I’m not ready to deal with everything just yet… And no, while I won’t be ready tomorrow, either, I do need this time to myself. Just to… To take everything in.”

“Um…okay.” Tara was quiet for a moment. “And when they ask where you’re staying… Do you want me to say hotel or—”

“No. Tell them where I am and if anyone decides to come and knock Spike’s door down, I will get cranky. And then remind them what happens when I get cranky.”

Spike winked at her but said nothing.

More shuffling from the back. “I didn’t mean to—”

“The last thing I am is ashamed, so I don’t see a need to lie to them.” Buffy turned again so she could meet Tara’s eyes. “I know you and the others won’t be able to grasp that immediately, but that’s the way it is. And they’ll know that tomorrow. Tonight, they can play the guessing game.” She looked again to Spike. “I’m spending time alone because that’s what I need.”

“Only you won’t be alone,” Wright pointed out. “And color me stupid, but that’s what they’re gonna object to, right?”

“Then tell them I’m with Spike and let them come to their own conclusions. All right?”

A long pause filled the air.

Tara sighed at length, then shrugged. “All right, Buffy. If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

Another moment. “I know you don’t think I get it,” Tara said slowly, “but I do. I do. And just for the record…you two have my support. Spike, you can be scary—”

He beamed at that. “Thanks, pet.”

“—but I think you’re… I won’t say a good guy, but good for her. You’ve been great these past couple of days. It’s really, really obvious that you love her very much.”

Wright made a gagging sound. “Oh, please.”

Buffy scowled at him. “Shut up. It’s sweet.”

It wasn’t physically possible for Spike’s grin to grow any wider. “Thank you, Glenda,” he replied earnestly. “You couldn’t be any more correct.”

“Awww…” Buffy shimmied over to her vampire and cuddled into his side, peppering his throat with soft kisses. “You’re adorable.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

There were dual groans from the back. “Oh, please.”

Spike grinned. “Got more where that comes from then, love,” he drawled, taking her hand and placing it on the crotch of his jeans. “If you know what I mean.”

The look in his eyes was pure challenge, which was the only reason she didn’t verbally let him have it. Instead, feeling wicked, Buffy leaned forward to nibble suggestively at his throat and gave his cock a nice squeeze, earning a throaty whimper for her efforts.

“Okay,” Wright said slowly from the back. “Officially scarred for life. I’ve seen a lot of things in my time that could do it…but this takes the cake.”

Amazingly, Tara didn’t look bothered at all.

“I take it you’re used to this sort of thing?”

“Oh,” she said with a dismissive wave. “You haven’t met Anya yet. This is nothing.”

“And yet the pussy-whipped remark made your claws extend.”

“What can I say?” she offered with a shrug. “I’m versatile.”

Spike and Buffy dislodged as the Desoto pulled into 1630 Revello Drive. For a long moment, all she could do was stare at her home. Yes, it was still there. Like the rest of the town, her house hadn’t changed.

With a sigh, Spike killed the engine and nodded at the front door. “All right, kiddies,” he drawled. “This is it. Collect whatever baggies or small children you brought along with you and scamper off.”

“This is your house?” Wright asked, impressed as Tara moved to unpack the back.

Buffy nodded.

“Wow. It’s…a house.”

Spike snickered. “What’d you bloody expect, a cardboard box?”

“No, it’s just…houses. Haven’t had one of those in a while.” Wright leaned forward and patted Buffy’s shoulder. “We’ll fend the herd tonight, Buff. You get some rest.”

She nodded at that. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. Get some rest. You know, that thing that’s not sex? No horseplay.”

Spike pouted. “Party-pooper.”

Zack chuckled, lifting the still-sleeping child into his arms and waiting as Tara collected her things. “Restfield, right?”

Spike arched a brow. “You’re the demon hunter. You tell me.”

“If I need to find you, I will.”

“Suuuure…”

“I will. And if I find any evidence of hanky panky, you two will be in big trouble.”

Spike offered a mock salute. “Aye, aye, cap’n. Everythin’ unloaded?”

Tara nodded, slamming the trunk shut. “Everything that needs to be.”

“Then we’re gone.”

“You know what to do when they ask you, right?” Buffy asked, leaning over Spike to be heard out the window.

Wright nodded with a grim smile, running his hands through his sleeping daughter’s hair. “You’re downtown selling your body for drug money.”

“But only for the really good drugs, so they shouldn’t worry,” Buffy agreed without missing a beat.

“Right,” Spike said decisively. “We’re out. One of the Scoobies’ll be able to send you in the right direction if your oh-so fabulous trackin’ skills fail you. ‘Course, that’s assuming you’ll need to find us in the first place.”

The demon hunter’s smile turned into a smirk. “You’re a riot.”

“I try my best.” He nodded at Rosalie. “Tell bite size to not listen to anythin’ that wanker Harris has to say.”

“Gotcha.”

“Hey!” Buffy and Tara cried in protest.

Spike just grinned. “Right, love,” he said, turning back to the Slayer. “You ready?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, but she nodded all the same. “I’m ready,” she said. “Take me home.”

Spike looked at her with the sweetest smile she had ever seen, making her go warm all over. Home wasn’t a crypt—not to her, but wherever he was. And if that was where he chose to be, then by golly, that was where she would be, too.

Though the prospect of an apartment was sounding better and better.

“You got it, sweetheart.”

They were gone the next instant. Buffy released the breath she didn’t need to hold the instant they turned off her street, having never been more relieved to leave that house than she was now.

Tomorrow would be too soon, but it was one more day.

At least she had tonight.

*~*~*

“Whoa, Tara,” Xander drawled after opening the door, blinking in surprise. “We send you for Buffy and you bring home a man. Talk about a first. Unless…” He narrowed his eyes and gave Wright a skeptical once over. “You are Buffy?”

Tara met Willow’s gaze and broke into a smile. “Hi, sweetie.”

Willow all but threw herself into Tara’s arms, nearly knocking her off her feet. “I missed you,” she said, then pulled her in for a kiss. “But you do seem to be a slayer short.”

“Are we going to ignore the butch man standing where Buffy should be?” Xander asked. “Because I have questions.”

Tara turned and looked at Wright, feeling her cheeks heat. “Sorry,” she said. “We’re not apart very much.”

“No worries. I get it.” He nodded at Xander. “Guessing that’s Harris?”

“Ummm…yeah.” Xander frowned and stepped back, then turned to Willow and stage-whispered. “How did he do that?”

“Well,” Wright answered, “let’s just say if Spike didn’t tell me enough, Cordy filled me in on the full nine yards.” He shook his head with a wry grin and stepped boldly into the house, lightly bouncing Rosalie in his arms. Once inside, he addressed the redhead. “Going to guess by the welcome home that Tara received that you’re Willow.”

“Umm, yes,” she replied lamely, eyes wide. Then she turned to Tara. “Who is this guy?”

“Sorry. The name’s Zack Wright.”

“He’s a friend of Spike’s,” Tara explained.

Xander frowned. “Spike has friends? Since when?”

“Don’t go there,” Tara said quickly. “Please.”

“Uhhh…” Willow began sheepishly, speaking to Tara but not moving her gaze from Wright. “Color me confused, but weren’t you supposed to bring home someone more…umm…Buffyish than this guy? No offense or anything.”

“None taken.”

“Buffy’s here,” Tara assured them, feeling her pulse kick up a notch. “She’s here and she’s…well, as fine as can be expected. She just decided that she needed some time to herself before she came home.”

Xander and Willow exchanged worried glances.

“Time to herself?” Willow demanded. “Is she okay?”

“Well, come on, Wills, of course she’s not okay. She’s been a vamp chew-toy for days.” Harris’s eyes narrowed. “Well, where is she?”

“She decided to stay at Spike’s tonight,” Wright answered. “She wanted to be somewhere where she feels comfortable.”

Tara inhaled deeply. _Three, two, one…_

“Are you sure you brought home the right Buffy?” Xander asked.

“It’s nothing—” Tara began.

“Look, she’s been through a lot,” Willow intervened, holding up a hand. “And Spike…well, he was there with her. Maybe she feels safe with him.”

The look on Xander’s face told Tara he was quickly melting from confusion to anger. Never a good thing with him. “And we’re not rushing off to burst that bubble as quickly as possible…why?”

“Because she would kick your ass if you tried,” Wright replied simply. “She told me to tell you that.”

Xander favored him with a blank stare. “Who _are_ you?”

“I’m just a guy who’s here as a favor to Spike and Buffy, all right? Something about a mega death-bitch you guys need help putting down.”

“Look, pal, the last thing we need is some guy who just shows up from nowhere and—”

“He’s the real deal, guys,” Tara said, her tone firm. “The real, real deal. And he’s been doing it for a long time. Trust me, it’s a good thing he’s here.”

Willow frowned. “Doing what for a long time?”

“I’m a demon hunter.” Wright grinned. “A damn good one, too.”

“And yet you’re a friend of Spike’s,” Xander said dully.

He shrugged in turn. “It’s a recent development. We met, I almost killed him, we fought, we ‘truced, and through some bizarre stuff that would give anyone nightmares, we ended up here.” An unpleasant smile colored his face. “And if you need any other proof, just give Angel Investigations a ring. Cordy’ll set you straight.”

“Cordy,” Xander repeated. “As in the wonder-bitch Cordy.”

A dark wave settled over the hunter. “Watch it.”

“He and Cordy are kind of a thing,” Tara explained nervously.

“There’s also Wes and Charlie,” Zack continued. “And Lorne, but oh wait…he’s a demon. Nix that idea.”

Willow laughed. “Well… You are a demon hunter, right?”

“An enlightened one,” he replied with a nod. “I’ve seen things you can’t imagine…and a lot of them have been in the past week.”

“Anyway, he’s here to help.” Tara shrugged, doing what she could to hurry the conversation from this point. The quicker they were off this topic, the better. “Where’s Giles, Joyce and Dawn? They’ll want to know that Buffy’s all right.”

“Only we don’t know that she’s all right, do we?” Xander demanded.

“You don’t believe me?” Tara asked, wounded. “I wouldn’t lie about that, Xander.”

Willow crossed her arms at that and favored her friend with a scowl.

He at least had the good sense to look a little abashed. “Oh, I know. But still, proof is of the essence.”

Wright cocked his head in challenge. “She’s with Spike. End of discussion.”

“Can’t even begin to tell you how much that does not make me feel better.”

“Well, he did just risk his hide to save her,” Wright retorted. “You’d think that earn him the benefit of a doubt.”

Harris shook his head. “I don’t know what kind of demon hunter you are. You see, in Sunnydale, doubt equals bad equals dead you. And hello—Spike’s a nasty killer.”

“Trust me, boy, I know a whole lot more about nasty killers than you do.”

Willow turned to Tara, her eyes wide and desperate. “Giles is at his house. We’re supposed to call him when you get in. Dawnie’s upstairs reading to Joyce—or she should be, and not watching television, but I haven’t checked up on them in a while. And Anya went for food. She didn’t want to order pizza…because there’s a delivery charge and you know how she is.”

Tara nodded. “I know.”

“Look…” Xander sighed and shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s just…sit down and talk like normal people. We should call Giles—”

“I don’t see why,” Willow retorted. “If Buffy’s not gonna be here until tomorrow.”

“Then why don’t we go to Spike’s place and—”

“Were you not listening just a minute ago?” Wright snarled. Without waiting for a reply, he shook his head and turned to Tara, nodding at the sleeping child in his arms. “I can’t stay here and I’m not taking her to a cemetery, so would it be okay if—”

“Sure,” Tara said, accepting the now-familiar weight of the sleeping girl into her arms. She was so small for being nearly ten. “That might be better for everyone.”

Willow frowned. “Where’s he going?”

“Somewhere where I’m not tempted to break anyone’s legs to keep them from doing something stupid and selfish.” Wright snickered and moved for the front door. “Besides, I better go make sure those two are behaving themselves, right? Made them promise and everything.”

Tara’s eyes widened. “Zack—”

“I’ll be back. Tomorrow.” And that was it. With a disgusted shake of his head, Wright pivoted and disappeared, slamming the door behind him.

Xander blinked slowly after he was gone, turning to Willow. “Did he say what I think he said?”

Willow frowned. “It could’ve meant a number of things.”

Two sets of eyes fell on Tara, and she sighed in defeat.

And hoped she could avoid making definitive statements until the next day.

*~*~*

Spike’s hand came down on the table hard enough that one of the legs snapped, sending sawdust and splinters of wood across the floor of crypt. The impact of the blow provoked a shrill cry from Buffy and she jumped to her feet, scampering as far away from him as possible.

It took a second for him to regain control. Slowly, their eyes met.

Then Buffy started laughing.

“Stop,” he pouted. “It’s not funny.”

That didn’t seem to help. Her amusement intensified, her arms dropping to her sides so she could hold herself as her body shook. She made several ill-attempts to recollect control but only ended up laughing harder.

“What? I bloody well broke my coffee table. It’s not funny.”

That much cut through the fog. Buffy bit her lip, looked at the shards of table, and considered.

Then she was laughing again.

“Oh, that sodding does it.” Spike growled and jumped up, seized her by the wrist and dragged her back to the sofa and into his lap. She cried with mock protest and squirmed in a poor attempt to escape, which only earned her a low moan and a hungry look from her vampire.

“You…broke…the table,” she gasped.

Spike glared at her for another moment before a hint of a grin crossed his lips. “I noticed,” he murmured, and brushed a kiss against over the hollow of her throat.

“You broke it…playing Egyptian Ratscrew.”

Spike glanced down sheepishly. “It was bloody well askin’ for it. Besides, you were gonna enact your bloody Slayer plus vamp strength. I had to act.”

Buffy wiped her eyes, another bubble of laughter erupting from her lips. “Why didn’t I see this side of you before?”

He grinned, gently caressing her back and sending tinglies to all the right places. “And what side would that be?”

“The real you, I guess.” She sighed happily and shifted so she was reclined against the sofa, Spike sprawled on top of her. “Of course, you did try to kill me a few thousand times.”

“I was just shy,” he explained, straight-faced. “I wanted to get your attention.”

“Oh, is that it?”

“Haven’t you ever heard that boys are mean to the girlies they secretly wanna—”

Buffy slapped his shoulder, earning a rich chuckle. “Well, yeah. But I think you might’ve gone a little overboard with that.”

“You think so, eh?”

“Just a little.” She grinned and ran a hand along his jaw, her smile widening when he leaned into her touch. “So, what do you do for fun around here?”

“Watch _Passions_ ,” he replied with a shrug. “Plot world domination. Shag Harm.”

And there went her good mood. Buffy scowled and whacked his shoulder.

Spike chuckled again and brushed a kiss over her lips. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“Me? Jealous of that vapid airhead? Puhlease.”

“What she lacks in smarts she more than makes up for in—”

“Finish that sentence and you’re never getting laid again.”

“So says you.”

“Spike!”

He was laughing in earnest now, his prying fingers tickling her sides. She squirmed but didn’t laugh. He wasn’t going to win that way.

“I love you, you daft bint,” he told her a moment later, exasperated. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“So you decide to make jokes at my expense about screwing other girls?”

“You know I’d never do that. Besides…” He leaned in to nibble at her mouth again, and while she didn’t respond, she didn’t push him away either. “I believe you’ve effectively ruined me for all women. After…everythin’. This is it.”

She sniffed. “I better have ruined you.”

“Trust me, pet. No one can hold a candle to you.”

“Even Harmony?”

 _“Especially_ bloody Harmony.” He nibbled along her jawline. “You’re it for me. Have been since I first laid eyes on you. Just took me a bloody long time to realize it.”

Buffy tipped her head back, her eyes fluttering shut. Damn, he knew how to use that mouth of his. “Where is Harm, anyway?”

“Bugger if I know or care. Maybe she took up with a nasty snot demon, or found a deaf vamp. Knowin’ her, she wouldn’t notice that he doesn’t talk back.” Spike ran his hand down her arm and crossed her abdomen slowly, trailing a feather light touch until she shivered and squirmed. “Sorry this place lacks the finer luxuries, love. But it was your idea to stay here.”

“I know. You see me complaining?”

He arched an eyebrow. “You were just on about the ex, so yes.”

“Doofus, I mean now and about the living conditions. You have a television, you have blood in the fridge, you have some food, though I think those last two have gone bad by now…” A sly smile broke across her face as she slid her fingers slid down his chest before slipping under his shirt and earning a low growl of encouragement. “You have a big comfy bed downstairs, and you have you. So I’m a happy girl.”

Spike sent her a smoldering look that made her toes curl in anticipation. “How happy?” he demanded.

“I get the feeling you’re about to make me the happiest girl ever.”

“Your insight serves you well…” He dipped his head to her throat, dropping teasing nibbles across her skin as his hand slid beneath the waistband of her pants.

“Mmm…” he murmured, his fingers dancing over her sex, spreading the juices they found there before dipping inside her. “You’re magnificent.”

Buffy released a harsh gasp, clutching at her shoulders as he settled his thumb over her clit. “Thank you,” she managed awkwardly. “I try.” Before he could respond, she grasped him by the neck and brought him back to her, ravaging his mouth with hers. A low growl of encouragement coursed through him, touching her nerves with almost more power than his hands could. They battled each other with passionate fury that would have her thoroughly unwound in seconds.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Spike murmured against her lips, edging deeper inside her. “Want you to come all over my fingers.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Then I’m gonna fuck you blind.”

“That too. Can totally be handled. By me.”

Spike grinned, increasing the pressure against her clit with his thumb. “The sounds you make…”

Buffy arched off the sofa, a strangled cry scratching at her throat. “I think I’m about to make a lot of them.”

Except she wasn’t, because Wright chose that moment to interrupt them.

“Aha!” he cried triumphantly as the crypt door burst open. “I knew there was a reason to check up on you two. Didn’t I say no hanky panky?”

Buffy rolled her head back, groaning now for an entirely different reason. “Can I eat him?”

Spike’s jaw tightened, his throat working. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen him so irritated. “That,” he said a moment later, withdrawing his hand from her pants and looking just as disappointed as she felt, “would be wrong. I think.”

Wright snorted and bulldozed his way into the crypt, clearly unbothered. “You got anything for people in the fridge?”

Buffy fidgeted, frustrated and denied, as Spike drew back completely. The situation in his pants looked painful, and she would have been sympathetic had he not held her gaze and stuck the fingers that had just been inside her in his mouth and made a show of sucking them clean.

Yeah, Wright was lucky she had a soul and a conscience right now because she was suffering some major blue balls. Or whatever the lady equivalent was.

“Hey, Zangy,” Spike said at last, grabbing Buffy around the middle and hauling her into his lap—right on top of his cock. “I see you found the place.”

Zack shrugged, stretching out his arms. “What can I say? Demon hunter.”

“Right.”

“We were playing Egyptian Ratscrew and Spike broke the table,” Buffy blurted.

Wright arched an eyebrow.

“It’s a game!”

“Well, whatever you kids are calling it these days, I distinctly remember telling you that sleep was your priority tonight.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother.”

“It’s a card game,” Buffy said. “Though…yeah. Why should we listen to you, huh? That’s right. We’re both…adults. A-and vampires. Yeah, vampires. And we could…you know…eat you and…stuff.”

Zack’s eyes went even wider.

“Not that way!”

Spike clamped a hand over Buffy’s. “Sweetheart, quit while you’re ahead.” He turned back to his friend and gestured to the empty chair that sat across from the television. “So, they chase you off already?”

That was all it took. Immediately, Wright heaved a deep sigh and all but collapsed in the proffered seat. “I don’t know how you put up with it,” he said. “And yes, while I realize that I was on their side not too long ago, I don’t think I was ever that bad.”

“I beg to bloody differ.”

Wright gave him a sharp look but shrugged again. “Okay, so I was an anti-demon son of a bitch…and I still am, don’t get me wrong. But I do have eyes and common sense—something that seems to be severely lacking with your friends.” He nodded at Buffy. “No offense.”

She opened her mouth to reply but settled with a nod instead. There was no sense in protesting the truth.

Spike shrugged. “Harris has always been like that,” he said dismissively. “Funny, though. We were actually on the road to gettin’ along before all this happened. ‘Course there’s every chance that was a fluke. Or temporary insanity.” He glanced at Buffy with a weary sigh, smiling as though it didn’t matter. “It’s nothing I didn’t expect.”

“It’s not fair,” she murmured.

“It’s not supposed to be, love.” He smiled gently and turned back to Wright. “Where’s bite size?”

“Left her with Tara. I’ll be by in the morning to pick her up.” He made a face. “I might be willing to stay here, but I sure as hell am not gonna subject my daughter to it.”

“Oh, but you would make her stay in that pit of filth you called a motel in LA?”

“Better than here.”

“By your admittedly low standards, I guess.”

Zack scowled. “Buffy, tell your boyfriend to lay off.”

“Slayer, tell—”

“Oh, give it a rest.” She wiggled in Spike’s lap, grinning when he whimpered. Served him right. “Come on. Let’s teach Zack how to play Egyptian Ratscrew.”

Wright favored them with a worried look.

“It really is a card game.”

“I don’t even wanna get into the story about how I’m not falling for that again.”

There was another still pause. Buffy frowned and looked at Spike, who seemed as confused as she was.

“Again?” she demanded coyly.

“Huh uh. No way.”

“Come on, it’s fun.”

Spike grinned at them, eyes shimmering with amusement. “As long as no more tables get broken around here, I’m up for it.”

Buffy smirked. “You’re also up for a few other activities.”

He snickered. “Right. And my personal cock-blocker just arrived, so I guess we’re not gonna have that kinda fun tonight.”

“Guys!”

Spike turned back to Wright. “It is a card game, Zangy. Trust me, I like you, but I don’t _like_ you. It goes like this…you shuffle the deck seven times ‘cause of some wonky folklore that we bloody well must take seriously ‘cause this is Sunnyhell and the slightest deviance from protocol could mean the end of the world. Then—”

“There’s hitting,” Buffy explained with a shrug. “You slap the cards to get them. Spike can explain the rest, but that’s the fun part. That’s also how the table broke. Some people just take the game a little too seriously.”

“Well, sorry, pet, but you were cheating.”

“I was not!”

“You were gonna. You have a bloody awful poker face.”

“Well, thank god we’re not playing poker!”

Spike rolled his eyes with a grin, looked at Wright. “See what I have to put up with?”

Zack merely shook his head. “All right…deal the cards and start from the top. Any game that involves hitting things has to be entertaining.”

“That’s my boy.”


	49. All I Need

There was no telling how a day would go, especially when one lived on the Hellmouth. Buffy was prepared for hers to be full of shit.

Even though it began rather awesomely. She’d awakened to a series of soft kisses being pressed along her throat, Spike’s arm around her middle, pulling her back flush against his chest as his cock teased her ass. He’d asked if she wanted to, then when she whimpered in response, had parted her legs and slipped inside her. She’d barely recovered from her orgasm before he flipped her onto her back and kissed his way to her pussy, where he tongued her until she could barely remember her own name.

By the time her body had stopped quivering, Buffy had been ready to dish out some payback, because Spike had looked much too pleased with himself. So she’d pushed him onto the bed and licked and sucked his cock until the words he babbled no longer made sense.

It had gone on like that, back and forth, all afternoon, until Buffy had called a truce and begged for a shower.

Spike had a shower in his crypt—something that surprised her but shouldn’t have. It wasn’t anything fancy and the water wasn’t warm, but it didn’t need to be. Spike had slipped in just as she was wrapping up, and the sight of him naked, hard and wet had all but convinced her to see just how much she could take before her newly enhanced muscles began to ache when Wright had bellowed down a warning that he wasn’t afraid to separate them forcibly.

Upstairs, they had enjoyed several more rounds of Egyptian Ratscrew before Wright volunteered to pick up blood and doughnuts, saying that Buffy had started looking at his neck a bit too hungrily, and reminded her that she hadn’t eaten the night before. After feeding the vampires, he’d begged off to return to his child.

And there had still been hours in the day. Hours she and Spike had spent watching his crappy television, discussing the pros and cons of Spike Lee movies, and planning the layout of their future apartment.

It couldn’t last, though. The sun had inevitably set. And it was time.

Now she was sitting on the living room sofa in her mother’s house, staring at the slack, horrified faces of the people she loved. Her hand was wrapped around Spike’s and if she got any closer to him, they’d be sharing a seat. Every time she tensed, he would squeeze her hand, which was the only thing at the moment keeping her grounded.

She didn’t know what horrified her friends more. The fact that she was practically in Spike’s lap or the thing she’d just told them.

“I wondered why I had to invite you inside,” Dawn finally said. “It was…weird.”

Buffy smiled weakly. “Yeah. It was.”

“So…this is it, huh?” Willow jumped in. “No tricks. No candid camera. You’re really…a…you’re really a vampire.”

Spike squeezed her hand again.

“It’s obvious.” Anya shrugged. “You really didn’t notice when she walked in the room? No human has skin that pale.”

“Honey,” Xander said with gritted teeth, “I don’t think they kept her in the sun at that evil law firm.”

“Yes, and the amount of torture she endured most likely included massive blood loss,” Anya agreed. “But there is a difference between sunlight-deprived and vampire sunlight-deprived. Believe me, I’ve seen it.”

From his position in the corner, Wright widened his eyes, then shot a look at Spike. “Okay. She’s scary.”

“Told you, mate.”

Buffy cleared her throat, shifting a little. “As far as the vamp thing goes, it’s really not as bad as all that,” she said lamely, squeezing Spike’s hand hard at the lie. Or, not a lie, but a question mark. It would take her more time than she’d been given to fully reconcile what this meant for her. When he squeezed back, she knew he understood. “I mean…definite transition. The entire blood thing still wigs me out…but if you pretend it’s diet soda, it’s…easier.”

Xander blinked slowly as though just coming out of a daze. “Okay,” he began. “Could you…repeat everything you just said and use very, very small words so I know I’m not having some very bad nightmare?”

At that, Buffy hardened. “You heard me.”

“Yeah. It’s the hearing part that has me falling off my seat.”

“How did this happen?” Willow demanded, flabbergasted. “I mean, I know the basics. The blood swap and everything…but if Angel knew that you would keep your soul, why did he even bother to—”

“He didn’t,” Spike said, and the room again went quiet.

But only for a moment.

Wright released an exasperated sigh. “Great. You couldn’t have eased into that at all?”

Spike kept his gaze on Xander as though daring him to do something. “What can I say, Zangy?” he replied. “I like my cards on the table where I can see ‘em.”

“Wait a minute, I’m confused,” Joyce intervened. “Spike…are you saying—”

“I know perfectly well what he is saying,” Giles said coldly. “Spike is the one that sired Buffy. Angelus had nothing to do with it.”

Zack arched an eyebrow. “If I may—”

“I wouldn’t call it nothin’, Rupes,” Spike replied. “When I found her, she was all but dead. Peaches was given a heads up and decided to change the rules before Zangy and I could break her out. When I saw her, it was let her die or vamp her. I chose. So bloody bite me.”

Xander’s eyes flared and he leaped to his feet. “You expect us to believe that?” he demanded. “You expect us to believe that we sent _William the Bloody_ after a slayer and his only thought was how to bring her home, safe and sound?”

Buffy tensed, her insides going cold. “That’s enough.”

Xander threw her a dirty look. “Why are you defending him?”

“Because he saved my life!” she snapped, tightening her hold on Spike into what could only be called a death grip. “Because he did more for me than anyone else has ever tried.”

“You know we would’ve come if we’d had the option, Buff,” Willow said, frowning. “But Dawn…and Glory…and your mom. We were going to come, but Spike showed up and volunteered. Do you have any idea how hard that decision was, sending someone we didn’t trust and just…hope that he was serious? Give us some credit here.”

“You did what you had to,” Buffy agreed. “You really, really did. If you’d have come after me while Dawn was in danger, I’d’ve made snack food out of you by now.”

A still note settled through the living room.

Spike leaned forward, lips curling in a smile. “That’s a joke, kiddies. Bloody hell. She might be a vamp, but she’s still the Slayer.”

“Don’t bother trying to tell them anything,” Wright drawled, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen a more closed-minded group since those Church of Christers in the Midwest.”

Spike snickered and tossed his friend a skeptical glance. “What were you doin’ in the Midwest?”

“My job. Hello.”

“For the Church of Wankers?”

Wright shrugged easily. “There was a demon, they weren’t Catholic so they couldn’t exorcise him properly. Good thing, ’cause those type of demons only get pissed when you try to—”

Xander blinked, frowned, and held up a hand. “Is there any possible way you can _not_ talk about this right now? If you didn’t notice, things of—y’know—importance are being discussed.”

“Spike,” Wright said, glaring at Xander, “if you ever decide to fall off the wagon, I won’t stake you for killing that one.”

“I think the lady might, but the sentiment’s appreciated.”

“And I’m noticing that the Slayer in the room doesn’t come to my defense as her so-called rescuer plots my death,” Harris noted with a wry grin. “Thanks, Buff. Knew I could count on you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop. He wouldn’t.”

“Oh really?”

Willow placed a hand on Xander’s shoulder and shook her head to silence him, her eyes wide and full of warning. “I’d stop. Like now, if I were you.”

Wright, having noticed, snickered and shot a glance to Spike. “You had your money on the redhead, right?”

Spike shrugged. “Her or Rupes. But I betcha anythin’ it’ll be Stay Puft who comes at me with a stake.”

Buffy scowled. “You two bet on this?”

“Had to keep it entertainin’ somehow, sweetheart.”

Zack nodded his agreement. “I’ll say this, Buffy. Your boy’s very good at inventing random games to keep himself occupied.”

“Your boy?” Xander repeated. “Okay, will—”

“For god’s sake, it’s perfectly obvious what he meant,” Giles snapped. “Do you really need everything spelled out in large letters? Good god, man, use that thing between your ears sometime, if only to shock us that you know how it works.”

Xander frowned. “Uh, I think I’m offended.”

“Buffy and Spike having sex,” Anya said simply. “Lots of it, from what I can tell. Buffy has that satisfied look that I get after we have finished copulating, so I guess they have also had sex recently.”

Wright tried to hide a grin with a cough.

“Thank you, Ahn,” Xander said through his teeth. “Anything else?”

“It’s good sex,” she went on. “I can tell because Buffy doesn’t have that unsatisfied scowl she often wore when she was dating Riley.” She flashed a winning smile. “Congratulations and many happy orgasms.”

A long beat rang through the living room.

Spike nodded at her, smirking. “Thanks, pet. We’ll get right on that.”

Buffy elbowed him, earning a chuckle from Wright.

“Dawn,” Joyce said suddenly, “go to your room.”

“Mom!”

“Go to your room.”

“Come on,” Dawn complained. “I go to a public school. I’ve heard the word _orgasm_ before.”

This time, Joyce was backed up by Buffy, Spike, Giles, and Willow. “Go to your room!”

“Ahn,” Xander said slowly after the teenager had stalked off in a huff, “you do know that the question was rhetorical, right?”

“Yes. But I had the answer and I decided to provide it.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. They’re holding hands, Xan. You can’t tell me you haven’t seen that.”

“I have selective blindness, thank you.”

Wright heaved a dramatic sigh. “Your friends are crazy.”

Xander blinked. “Ummm…she’s the one having sex with Spike and _we’re_ the crazy ones?”

That earned a disgruntled snicker. “I’m beginning to wish I’d stayed upstairs with Rosalie and Tara.”

“Well, nothing’s stopping you, man,” Xander said, waving at the stairs.

Zack rolled his eyes. “Your girlfriend is an ex-demon, for god’s sake! The only thing about her that isn’t demon is the lack of powers, and yet you attack my friend who has done nothing more than get your slayer back as well as he could. Oh and by the way, before you mention it, the entire vamping thing—”

“Zangy,” Spike said, sitting forward suddenly, “don’t do anything stupid.”

“It was my fault, okay? I’m the one that made her a vampire.”

“Like that,” Spike muttered.

The room again fell quiet.

Giles swallowed and shifted, face grave. “You…how?”

“Simple, really,” Wright continued, unfazed. “We found her, Spike ran over to her, she was all dead-like. I put two in his chest to incapacitate him, then opened one of his veins and poured it down her throat. He had no control over what was happening and believe me, he wasn’t happy. So there you have it. Chastise away. What do I fucking care?”

A low groan rang through Spike’s lips. “Zangy, you well-intentioned fool.”

“I had to tell them. It was annoying the piss outta me.”

Willow pursed her lips. “Buffy?”

Buffy nodded. There was nothing else to do.

The redhead frowned, then turned her attention back to Wright. “Why? Why would you do something like that?”

“He did it for me,” Spike replied softly. “Y’see, a few years ago, Zangy here lost his wife to a particularly nasty vamp. You might know her…name of Darla.”

Wright released a long breath, then shivered.

“Darla,” Giles murmured, turning to Zack, his eyes round with understanding. “There is an incident that the Watcher’s Council has yet to document but has always been well aware of. You did say your name was—”

“Her name was Amber,” Wright said, his voice soft. “And she wasn’t the only one. Darla killed my unborn son too. It’s the reason I became a demon hunter.” He looked to his friend. “Losing Amber killed me. When I saw Spike break down at Buffy’s side when we found her, I knew it’d kill him, too. It went against everything I… But it was worth it. They’re happy.”

Willow’s eyes went wide. “You…Spike, you—”

“I love her, she loves me, end of bloody story.”

“That’s the reason you went in the first place,” Joyce said, tears rolling down her face. “I should’ve seen it. I should’ve… You brought her home. Oh, how can I ever thank you?”

Buffy felt her eyes water and had the sudden impulse to leap into her mom’s arms.

“Am I the only person who isn’t okay with this?” Xander demanded.

“Yes,” Wright snapped.

“No,” Giles barked back.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Bloody typical.”

The demon hunter snickered. “So, let me get this straight…he’s good enough to send after your slayer, but if she decides she loves him, you need to stage a freakin’ intervention?”

Xander glared at him, then looked at Buffy. “Can we vote him off the island?”

“Hey, I don’t have a problem with demon-bashing,” Wright replied. “All I’m looking for is a little consistency. You hate demons? Fine. Don’t make exceptions, and especially, don’t date them.”

Anya frowned. “But I want Xander to date me.”

Zack’s gaze widened and he gestured at her emphatically. “You see? She even knows what I’m talking about!”

“Ahn was a demon for a long time. She isn’t anymore.”

Spike snickered, looked to Wright and offered a sour grin. “That’s right,” he said. “Our Anya’s a good little girl now. Wouldn’t harm a fly. Regrets every ruby red moment just as much as I do.”

Anya looked confused. “Am I supposed to regret it?”

“That’s not fair,” Xander complained.

“If you ever want to know what a cognitive bias is,” Wright said, nodding at Xander, “you need look no further.”

“Look,” Buffy said, holding up a hand. “There’s no use fighting—it’s not like it’s going to change anything. I know you’re all worried about me—”

“Worried.” Giles blinked at her as though she had spawned another head that was singing Cantonese opera. “Why would you think we’re worried?”

Xander crossed his arms. “Other than the fact that everyone here is insane.”

“Look, this is Buffy’s decision,” Joyce snapped. “Spike saved her life—”

“And it looks as though he’s earning every penny.”

That was it. Spike snarled to life, leaping to his feet as his eyes flashed yellow. Buffy and Wright were instantly at his side, each grasping an arm to hold him back, though even she had trouble holding onto him. His arms pulled and his muscles strained, and she feared for a very real second that had she let go, Xander might be minus one head.

Since holding onto him wasn’t doing much, Buffy tried a different tactic. She stepped in front of him and seized his head, redirecting those yellow eyes to her face. The second their gazes connected, he stopped growling and melted back to his human features, a long tortured sigh riding off his lips.

“Good?”

He nodded and kissed her brow. “Thanks.” Then he lifted his eyes to Xander and his expression hardened. “Look, you overgrown child. Attack me all you bloody want. I expect it from you. I’ve been sayin’ the same to the Slayer and Zangy since we left LA. But if you ever, ever make an insinuation about my girl like that again, I’m gonna bloody rip your heart out and shove it down your throat.”

“Moreover,” Zack added coldly. “I’ll help.”

A very cold beat settled throughout the room.

“You hurt Xander, and I’ll cut off your penis,” Anya said suddenly. “Then you and Buffy won’t be able to enjoy numerous orgasms.”

Spike snorted. “Just try it.”

“I don’t want to. I like penises. But if you hurt Xander—”

“Those issues aside,” Giles said hurriedly, “we have some other concerns.”

“And I think violent outbursts is one,” Willow agreed, worry lines wrinkling her brow. “Honestly, Spike. We’re trying to get the full here, and yeah what Xander said was very, very out of line. Hell, he bypassed the line by several county marks.”

“Thanks, Wills,” Xander muttered.

Spike growled again and the man quieted.

Wright shook his head heavily and broke for the entryway.

Buffy frowned. “Where are you going?”

“I need to kill something,” he explained, gaze leveling on Harris. “Now.”

That was punctuated by the hard slam of the door.

Xander waited a beat, then tossed Buffy a wry, insincere smile. “Gee, Buff. I sure am loving all your friends.”

“You called me a whore. What do you expect?”

At that, he at least had the good sense to look a little chagrined. “I…uhh… Yeah, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Except you did,” Buffy replied, crossing her arms. “You provoked him. And Spike. And me. It was low.”

“And Zangy’s not the type of bloke you wanna provoke,” Spike added, snaking an arm around Buffy, the movement so fluid she wondered if he even realized he was doing it. “But he’s a man who stands by his convictions and doesn’t shy to admit when he’s wrong.”

“Regardless,” Giles said, “he distracts us from the point. Spike…while I am sure… No, not even at that.” He eyed the place where Spike’s hand rested on Buffy’s hip and his expression darkened. “You should have clarified your motive before you left. Had we known—”

“You wouldn’t have let me within fifty feet of the Slayer.”

“Damn right,” Xander mumbled.

“And she’d be all sorts of dead. Do you wankers have any bloody idea what it took for me to get as close as I did? Angelus barely trusted me to be in the city. He wouldn’t have trusted any of you—”

“I am not saying that,” Giles said.

“Yeah, well your spokesman is.”

“Maybe it would be better if we talked to Buffy alone about this,” Willow suggested.

“You’re not getting anywhere with me,” Buffy said calmly. “There is nothing to discuss. I know this is weird for you, but it’s the way things are. We’re together. I…” She swallowed. “I do love him.”

Though she wasn’t looking at him, she knew Spike was gracing her with one of those raw, awestruck looks that shook her to her core.

“And I worry that you’re not thinking clearly,” Giles replied.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I swear. And I thought you’d be more upset about the dead thing. Heaven forbid I have a relationship without it being discussed in committee.”

“I’m sorry, Buffy, but your history notwithstanding, this is…” Giles broke off, shaking his head. “Willow’s right. We need to speak with you. Alone.”

“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of—”

Spike chose that moment to pull away from her, heading without ceremony toward the hallway.

And she lost her footing. Buffy turned, panic spearing her insides, her eyes wide and her stomach tightening. “Spike?”

He turned then, caught her expression, and offered her one of those just-for-her smiles.  “Just thought I’d give you and your mates a minute,” he explained.

“You don’t have to—”

“Nah. It’s all right. Think bite size is sneakin’ down, anyway.”

Buffy watched, well aware that everyone in the room was studying with her. Sure enough, Rosalie appeared in mere seconds, wide-awake and grinning when she saw Spike waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She listened as the child explained that Dawn and Tara had engaged in a heated argument about who was better—Bagheera or Baloo—and fallen asleep just seconds after the discussion ended. The movie was still playing, she said, but she had grown bored with it.

“Your pap went out for a nightcap,” Spike told her, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on. You hungry?”

“I’m not supposed to eat after nine o’clock.”

He grinned, all mischief, and leaned forward. “Then you’re about to get the first of many valuable lessons in rule breaking.”

Buffy watched the whole exchange and caught Spike’s eye before he moved out of sight. Again, he nodded, and there was warmth there. So much of it she thought she might burn.

It would be okay with them. Everything would.

No sooner had the pair disappeared did the Scoobies reinstate their campaign, everyone but Joyce chiming in with their iteration of how and why she was making a huge mistake. All things that she had already reviewed and retired. After all that had occurred, none of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was the road ahead.

This was what he wanted, he’d said. This was how he was willing to live if she willed it so.

“Buffy,” Giles was saying, “I understand your feelings of obligation. We all owe Spike a tremendous debt. But sires have strong holds on those they create. Exceptionally strong. What you’re feeling…”

“Let’s not forget the fact that he sired you,” Xander added. “As in, made you dead.”

“I was already dead,” Buffy replied, still gazing at the entryway. “I was dead long before Angel killed me. Spike came and he was there, and he asked for nothing in return.” She turned slowly to her family and offered a watery smile. “I love you guys. I do. And I know this is hard. I can barely understand it myself. But what I feel…it’s the real thing.”

“How can you know?” Willow asked softly. “I mean, if it is, go you. But the last time you did the vampire thing, it ended bad.”

“Very bad,” Giles agreed.

“So bad that he decided to kidnap you two years after he dumped you bad,” Xander concluded.

Buffy glanced at her mother, but all she had to offer was a shrug. “We just don’t want to see you hurt. But…” Joyce’s gaze drifted to the dining room as well, a soft, motherly smile crossing her face. “I think, after all we’ve seen, that we know he will not hurt you.”

Joyce had barely finished talking when Giles piped back in. “I am so sorry,” he said, his voice suddenly thick. “For everything.”

“You didn’t—”

“We never prepared for the option of your turning, Buffy. You experienced vampirism briefly the first year that we met, but we never discussed it afterward.”

Buffy shrugged halfheartedly, forcing a smile. “It’s really not as bad as I would’ve thought. I don’t love it, but—”

“What happened wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

She frowned. “Of course. And it wasn’t Spike’s, either. With what I saw, Giles, I wouldn’t have let him this close if he wasn’t the real thing. And I’m sorry to disappoint you—”

“You don’t,” he said instantly, eyes wide.

“We’re just surprised,” Willow added. “On all sorts of levels.”

There was a still beat before Xander cleared his throat. “There’s so much we don’t get,” he said. “Think about it. The last time we saw you, you were…well, alive for one thing…and had the basic attitude of ‘Oh-I-Hate-Spike-Let-Me-Count-The-Ways and making with the dust buster threats.”

Willow nodded. “Maybe if we had seen it—”

“You’d be singing a whole different tune,” Buffy said nodding. “I know you don’t get it. Really, when we came here, it was big with the not-expecting-you-to. But you guys know me. You know me very well. And…he’s not who he was. I mean, in some ways he is, but he…changed. Because of me. He doesn’t have a soul, but the thing is…he doesn’t need one.” She turned to the hallway again. “He’s doing this because he wants to.” A pause. “He’s one of us.”

*~*~*

“Whatcha makin’?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“What are those?”

“Little marshmallows.”

“What are they for?”

“The hot chocolate.”

“Why?”

“’Cause you can’t have hot chocolate without the little marshmallows.”

“Why?”

“It’s the law.”

“Says who?”

“Says the Hot Chocolate Police.”

Amazing how one could go from being one of the most feared and respected vampires in history and end up in a slayer’s kitchen, engaged in idle conversation with a nine-year-old. The same hands that had ripped through human flesh were now stirring a sugary concoction for a girl he shouldn’t care two licks about.

How the mighty had fallen. Spike remembered well how he’d hated himself for giving a fuck the night they’d met. Because no matter how he sliced it, this wasn’t natural. It went against his every instinct. He had been declawed and he hadn’t wanted it. Not at all. Not ever.

It wasn’t enough that Buffy had made him fall in love with her; she had also made him bloody care. The Spike of Old would never entertain the whims of a child. He’d have just as quickly ripped out her lungs.

Now the thought of anyone trying to resurrect the Spike of Old made him snarl.

Anyone who harmed Rosalie Wright had to answer to him, and he wouldn’t make it pretty.

That was it, then. It was official.

He was bloody tamed.

“I think you’re lying about the Hot Chocolate Police,” Rosalie observed as he slid a mug-full of warm, chocolaty goodness down the counter.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I think you ask too many bloody questions.” Spike’s brows quirked in jest, a smile tickling his lips. “Whaddya say to that?”

Rosalie studied him for a long minute before her eyes sparkled, rising admirably to the challenge. “I say…” she mused thoughtfully. “What is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?”

He barked a laugh. “African or European?”

“You know that movie?”

“Think I oughta be the one asking that question, bite size.” He raised his mug to his lips. “One of us was alive when it was released, and it wasn’t you.”

She looked at him for another moment, took another drink. It was adorable watching her grasp the cup; though she was old enough to keep hold of it with only one hand, she employed both, betraying the impression of a much younger child. “Why do you call me that?” she asked finally.

“What. Bite size?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…look at you.” Spike waved at her. “You’re a tiny person.”

“I’m not tiny.”

“Well, you won’t be for long.”

“I hunt demons.”

Yes, he knew that much. Unbloodybelievable.

“Your pap sure knows how to set a good example, doesn’t he?”

“Where is he?”

“Your dad?” Spike nodded at the back door. “He got a little brassed with Buffy’s mates and decided he needed to go stick it to somethin’ good. And since Cordy wasn’t around, he settled with the demon population instead.”

Rosalie frowned. “Why would Daddy stick it to Cordy?”

Though he had practically gift-wrapped it and shipped it to himself, hearing her say it still had him choking on laughter. He had to spit a mouthful of hot chocolate back into his cup before it sprayed somewhere else. When girl moved to pat his back, he all but lost it again.

“Just forget I said that,” he advised once he regained control of himself.

“I’m gonna ask him when he gets back.”

Spike’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

Rosalie merely shrugged and took another sip of her hot chocolate, then flashed him an innocent smile.

_Conniving little…_

“Why did you leave the others?” she asked a minute later.

There was a difficult question. Spike sighed, his shoulders dropping as he tossed a look in the direction of the living room. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t known the Scoobies would be this way, but a secret part of him had been hoping for a little break.

They were more upset about Buffy loving him than Buffy being a vampire. How’s that for family?

“To give ‘em some time alone.”

“With Aunt Buffy?”

The moniker made his lips twitch. “Yeah,” he replied. “With Aunt Buffy. Y’see, Aunt Buffy’s friends don’t particularly like me.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“’Cause I’m a bad man, bite size. Never forget it.”

“You’re not bad, Uncle Spike.”

The sad part was, she actually believed what she said. Deceiving such an intelligent girl made his insides coil in disgust.

“Dunno about that. I’ve done a lot of bad things.”

“I once stole a pack of gum from Price Cutter.”

He smirked. “That’s it. Start young and get better.”

“Nikki made me give it back.”

“I wouldn’t have.” Spike shrugged and leaned back. “If you were crafty enough to get it out of there without gettin’ caught, I say good on you. You’ve done more than earn it.” He sighed heavily and propped himself fully onto the counter, reaching for his cigarettes. “I’ve stolen a lot in my time. Never gave a penny back. And I’ve done worse. Much worse. Trust me, your Uncle Spike’s not a nice guy.”

A sad look overcame her at that. “You’re nice to me,” she said quietly. “And to Aunt Buffy. And to Dad. I’ve never seen you be mean to anyone good.”

“You haven’t known me all that long.”

“I’ve known you.”

Odd how such a small package could make him quiver so. There was true conviction in her words. As though she believed it. As though it was true. And then—perhaps it was. She was his guide, after all. The Powers had sent her to him to serve as his link. When Buffy had been killed, it was she—not Cordelia—who had provided the vision. She had been the one to first convey the Slayer’s love for him too. She had just known.

“You might’ve been bad, but you’re good now.”

“Watch it. I resent that.”

Rosalie smiled. “No you don’t.”

They traded a long glance and ages past between them. Then Spike grew uncomfortable with the serious introspection. Instead, he nodded to the upper level and puffed furiously on his cigarette, relying on the nicotine in ways he had never had before. “So Nibblet and Glenda fell asleep arguin’ about _The Jungle Book_?”

Rosalie smirked. “Yeah.”

“Y’know, I’ve seen _The Jungle Book_. Several thousand times.”

She nodded. “Dad says you’ve seen every movie ever.”

“Yet you were surprised when I knew Monty Python,” Spike replied. “Your old man’s exaggerating. There are some musicals I’ll never watch.” At her skeptical gaze, he sighed and conceded. “Okay, more than twice. Before I met your Aunt Buffy, I had a sick woman who I took care of. She bloody loved everythin’ musical—cartoons were some of her favorite. The colors and what all.”

“Drusilla,” Rosalie said.

Spike favored her with a sharp look. Then grinned. “You know too much.”

“Dad tells me everything he can. When we talked about you after you two became friends, he told me everything there was to know.” She shrugged as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “I know about Dru. And Darla. Darla killed my mother.”

“Darla was a nasty bint,” he said soberly. “Your dad sure let her have it.”

“Good.”

It was disconcerting hearing such cold ruthlessness from a child’s mouth. Of course, a fair percentage of what Rosalie said was disconcerting, so he didn’t allow it to bother him.

“You know any songs from _The Jungle Book_?” she asked a moment later.

Sadly, yes. “A few.”

“Sing them for me?”

“And that’s a no.”

She pouted. “Why not?”

“’Cause I got dignity. And pride. And…sod it. Knowin’ you, you already know that’s a bunch of bollix.” He winked at her and inhaled deeply. “‘ _When you pick a pawpaw, or a prickly pear, and you prick a raw paw; next time, beware_.’”

A wide grin that somehow made this worthwhile had spread across Rosalie’s face, and she was quick to join him. “‘ _Don’t pick the prickly pear by paw_ —”

_“—‘when you pick a pear, try to use the claw_ ,’” he continued. “‘ _But you don’ need to use the claw when you pick a pear of the big pawpaw_.’” He broke off with a laugh. “Dru used to bloody love that.”

“You miss her?”

“Dru? No.” And it was true. He delighted in that. For everything she had been to him, what he felt for Drusilla had long bitten the dust. He was a free man. “I love your Aunt Buffy more than anything in this world, bite size. More than I thought I could. More than before I left to find her. I don’t deserve her, but she picked me. I’m just a lucky bloke.” Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Kinda like your pap. He doesn’t deserve Cordy, but he’s got her anyway.”

“You shouldn’t say that.”

“How you figure?”

“Dad’s coming back.”

Spike blinked at her, and the scent hit him two seconds before Wright threw the back door open and stormed inside. From the lack of goo or dust on his person, it wasn’t difficult to observe that his hunting attempts had gone awry.

“Wouldn’t you know,” he groused. “A fucking hellmouth and not one fucking vamp to…” He glanced up two seconds too late, spying his daughter. “Heya, Rosie Posey. And…what are you doing out of bed?”

She merely grinned. “Hi Dad.”

“What? Bedtime?” Spike turned to calculate the time based on the microwave clock, but it was flashing midnight. “I’m guessing it’s nowhere near one in the morning. Isn’t that her normal bedtime?”

“Not anymore it isn’t. She’s gonna have school and stuff.” Wright’s gaze centered on his daughter. “Remember school? You gotta get up real early for that so Nikki can take you.”

Rosalie nodded, evidently unbothered and sipped at her hot chocolate. “Spike knows Disney.”

A hoarse cough reached his lips the next second. “No I bloody don’t!” he protested fanatically.

“He sang a part of ‘Bear Necessities.’”

“I bloody well did—”

Wright was laughing richly, his disappointing hunt apparently forgotten. “I tell you,” he said, “no more making fun of the Barbies. We’re even.”

Rosalie cocked her head. “He sang better than you do when you do ‘Under the Sea.’”

Now it was Spike’s turn to laugh, and he did—even harder when Wright scowled. “Kids,” he said, nodding at the girl. “Gotta love ‘em. An’ no, Zangy. We’re not even. Come on. At least mine wasn’t from a poncy princess number.”

Zack glared at him. “Two words. Egyptian Ratscrew.”

Spike sobered immediately. “Right. Right. We’re even.” He hopped down from the counter and stamped out his cigarette. “Uhhh…” He motioned toward the living room. “Back into the main hold?”

“Sounds good.”

“Gonna put bite size down first?”

“Even better.”

Wright scooped his daughter in his arms and turn back upstairs to see her properly to sleep, leaving Spike alone once more with his thoughts.

It was strange how quickly people became relevant in his life. For over a century, he had crossed through countries, met a thousand or more wandering souls and killed his fair share without thinking twice. Zack and his girl were important to him, and soon they would be returning to Los Angeles to be with the only other people in this wretched world he cared about.

And yet, this was how it was. And for Buffy, it was worth it. It was more than worth it. His love for her surpassed any form of happiness he could have found in Los Angeles without her. It was foolish to contemplate the woes of what could have been.

After all, this world wasn’t meant for having it both ways.


	50. Here We Found Plutus, The Great Enemy

Spike had just reached over to pick up the remote for the telly when a shrill ring pierced the air. He looked first at Buffy, who was sound asleep—her head in his lap, her body curled on the sofa beside him—then to Wright, who was muttering curses and digging his phone out of his jeans.

Spike scowled and turned off  _Casablanca._ “Who the bloody hell—”

“I’ll take it in the hall.”

Wright popped up and stomped over to the entryway to answer.

Thankfully, the phone hadn’t buggered the Slayer’s sleep. After all the nastiness the day before, it had taken a long time for Buffy to calm long enough for so much as a catnap, much less anything more. Never before had Spike seen her so overwrought. When she did manage to fall asleep, she wasn’t able to remain comfortable enough for it to stick. Spike had held her, massaged her tensed muscles, and even tried to sing to her as he often had for Dru. She’d requested the Beatles, and he’d made it through “Something” and the opening of “And I Love Her” before she’d nodded off. Still, it hadn’t taken. An hour later, she’d jerked away with a gasp that made him glad his heart couldn’t fail him.

As it turned out, the problem was the setting and the expectation. After giving up trying to sleep, Buffy had led Spike downstairs—Joyce had flat out refused to let her sleep in the basement and had instead boarded up the windows—intent on watching a movie. The second the opening credits of a classic Bogie film had flashed across the screen, she’d been out like a bloody light. If he had a say, she wouldn’t awake until it was time to get something to eat.

Wright had wandered in, bleary-eyed, from the makeshift bed Joyce had set up for him and Rosalie in the basement, right around the time that Sam was asked to play it again. He’d situated himself in a seat and stared at the screen without otherwise saying a word.

Until now.

“Yo?” Wright said into the receiver by way of greeting.

Spike’s lips quirked. The man had been spending too much time with Gunn.

The next note to escape his friend’s lips was deadpan and not soft. “Okay man, slow down and start from the beginning. Right…right… What? What?” Then all pretense of quiet left him, and he was all but yelling. “You’re shitting me. You’re fucking shitting me. Goddammit, when did this happen?” There was a meaningful pause, and his tone dropped even lower. “What? And it took this long to call me? Fuck that, do I sound like I care that it was…a fucking half hour, Wes! I could’ve been on my… No, from now on, something like this happens, I’m your first fucking phone call. I’m your first  _anything_. You got it? No. I’m coming home. Well, hold the fuck off until I get there. No, if she’s in danger, I…” Wright drew in a deep breath and caressed his brow, breaking into a heavy pace. “Well, find one. Find one now and have it ready. I’m coming home.”

Of course by the time the call ended, Buffy had woken up. She blinked those pretty green eyes, which were full of exhaustion, up at Spike. “What’s going on?” she asked, yawning.

“Zangy,” Spike drawled, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Anyone ever tell you that you swear like a sailor when you’re brassed? And loudly?”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m really sorry.”

Buffy sat up further, batting a hand. “Don’t pay attention to him. I’m fine. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Cordy.”

Spike sat up sharply, tightening his hold on Buffy. “What happened?”

Zack ran a hand through his hair, trembling. “You know that girl in her vision? The one we were pretending to chase across town when we were just trying to keep busy? Yeah. Apparently, she got sucked into Lorne’s alma mater about five years ago.”

“Five years ago?” Buffy repeated, confused.

“Yeah. And I guess after we left, one of Lorne’s cousins punched through with some creature he was hunting. Trashed Caritas, by the way. Anyway, they tracked it, killed it, sent Lorne’s cousin back…and Cordy, in the process.” The tremors wracking his body became more pronounced. As though saying the words aloud made it all the more final. “She’s gone.”

There was a long pause. Then Spike exploded.

“What? She’s gone? They’re just gonna sit back and—”

“No. Fuck no. I wouldn’t let that.”

“Better bloody believe it.” Spike rose to his feet. “Well, that’s it. We gotta go back.”

“No.  _I’m_  going back. You’re staying here.” Wright nodded to Buffy. “You got other things to worry about. Besides, I need someone to watch Rosalie for me.”

“Glenda’ll do it.”

“She’ll want you.”

A growl climbed up Spike’s throat and his eyes darkened. “Are you meaning to tell me you just expect me to wait here while my friend’s out lost god knows where? Bugger that. Otherworldly dimensions aren’t fun, kiddies. You’ll need—”

“You’re. Needed. Here. You have yours to protect.”

“The only thing I got here that matters to me is Buffy, and she’ll come.” He thought, at least. Spike turned to her, his gaze wide and imploring. “You will come, right?”

Buffy nodded, not hesitating. “I want to help. Cordelia did so much for us.”

Wright released a colorful bout of language, his eyes crazed. “God, you’re both insane! You have a hellgod to fight here. Didn’t either of you listen to Giles last night?” He turned heatedly to Spike. “Look, I appreciate it. I do, and she does, too. But we’ve got Wes, Charlie, Nikki, and your bestest friend of all joining the hunting crew. Hell, Wes is even talking about recruiting that pansy-ass lawyer if he isn’t too busy. We have a big party going. We’ll find her.”

“How?” Spike demanded.

“By—oh, I don’t know—looking. The hot spot the demon used to punch through has gone cold. They better have found another by the time I get back or there’ll be hell to pay.” Wright exhaled deeply and attempted to regain control of himself. He was still shaking from head to toe. “I appreciate it… Your offer, that is. But I can’t accept. You have too much to lose here.”

The meaningful look he sent Buffy was all the clarification he needed. And slowly, Spike’s fury began to fade.

The bloke was right. As much as Spike hated the idea of not rushing to Cordelia’s aid, he would sooner fall on a stake than let anything happen to Dawn or Joyce. Taking the Slayer away from her family without a game plan would all but be handing Glory the means to get exactly what she wanted.

If Wright was going after Cordelia, if Gunn and Wes were with him…hell, even Angel, Spike had to trust that she’d be recovered.

“Right,” Spike said finally. “You’re right.”

“I know.” Wright released another long breath. “I’m leaving now. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t. Just get her back.”

“Trust me. I’m not gonna lose Cordy. I can’t.” He shook his head. “I think that’d kill me.”

That was sentiment that Spike shared on a primal level. “Yeah,” he agreed hoarsely. “I know what you mean.”

Wright was already at the door. “I need the car.”                                               

Spike delved a hand into his pocket, found his keys, then pitched them across the room. “You dent her and I’ll bite you.”

“No you won’t.” Wright bounced the keys once. “Tell Rosalie where I went and that I’m sorry. I just can’t wait.” He turned, seized the doorknob, then paused. “Watch out for her with your lives. Or unlives. Whatever. I hate leaving her here but I can’t take her with me, and I don’t need to tell you what’ll happen if anything—”

Spike held up a hand. “Trust me, mate. I won’t let anythin’ happen to your tyke. Ever.”

“Neither of us will,” Buffy added with a soft smile. “We love that little girl.”

Zack nodded, a ghost of a grin shadowing his face. “Me, too. Make sure you tell her that.”

That was it. Just like that, he was gone.

Spike stared at the door for a long moment, then released a breath and turned back to Buffy.

“Wow,” she said. “That happened fast.”

Spike nodded, crashing back into the sofa beside her. “Yeah. But he’ll get to her in time. He bloody well has to.”

“He will. Did you see him moving? He was one with his inner Flash.”

“Not fast enough. If it were you, I wouldn’t’ve waited to explain.”

She smiled, nuzzling his chest in a manner that was almost kittenish. “It was me, Spike,” she reminded him. “And you came for me.”

“Not like that. I ran it by your mates first to make sure they didn’t do anything stupid.” A sigh coursed through him, and he rested his cheek upon the crown of her head, hands drawing artless patterns over her back. “Heaven forbid anything like that ever happens to you again, I wouldn’t stop for anything in the world.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Bugger that. I’m just being honest.”

“These things are not mutually exclusive.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “I mean it, love. Things’ve changed. Before when I left, it was different. I loved you, of course, but I didn’t know why.”

“And now you do?”

“Oh yes. Difference being, I was in love  _at_  you, not with you.” He smiled. “That’s changed, too. Never thought I could get it this good. Now everything’s about as close to bloody perfect as I’ve ever had it, and I’m so bloody afraid something like this Glory’s gonna take it away.” A sigh ran through him. “Like Zangy. Zangy and Cordy got it next to perfect, too, and now she—”

“They’ll get her back.”

“I know. If he feels a fraction for her what I feel for you, they’ll have her back and then some.”

“He feels fractions. Many, many fractions.”

“Does he?”

Buffy shrugged. “I can tell. It’s a girl thing.”

A wicked grin crossed Spike’s face and he dipped a hand between her thighs. “I like your girl things.”

“Well, they like you back.”

“Glad to hear it.” Spike hauled her closer so that she was straddling his waist, the apex of her thighs poised just above his cock, which never got any rest when she was around. He drew her hair from her face and kissed her, then buried his mouth against her throat. “You’re here,” he murmured. “You’re actually here.”

She tunneled her fingers through his hair. “I’m here.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“Why?”

Buffy snorted and slapped his shoulder. “You’re beginning to sound like Rosalie. Which reminds me…you do know that when Zack left us in charge of his daughter, that sort’ve made us honorary parents.”

“If I was beginning to sound like the tyke, I’d ask why fish lived in water.”

“I notice you heard that but not the parent thing.”

A sigh spilled from his lips. “I don’t know why Zangy figures she’ll be any safer with us, especially with a hellgod running around.”

She shrugged. “Because he trusts you. And this is a controlled environment.”

Spike lifted his head and looked at her.

“Well,  _more_  controlled than a dimension he’s never been to. At least he has an idea of what to expect here.” Buffy sat back on his legs. “She’s not safe anywhere, though. I have a battle ahead of me that I’m not ready to fight with demons and vamps and gods running around, and her father’s run off to save his girlfriend.”

“We’ll take care of her.”

“I know we will.” She sighed. “There’s just too much right now. I can’t feel it anymore.”

Spike frowned, tugged on her hair. “What, baby?”

“I can’t…feel. Last night, when Giles was talking about Glory after we got everything else… He was talking about stuff that we need to do. Prepare for. All I could think about was how I don’t wanna do this anymore.” She shook her head. “I’ve worn the Miss Slayer crown for six years, Spike, and I want to hand it over. I’ve died twice, stopped god-knows-how-many apocalypses, and I’m sorry if the word  _apocalypse_  fails to give me the wiggins now. I guess I grew skeptical the third time Giles told me the world was about to end.” A break then. Buffy tore her eyes away from his and focused on a spot on the floor. “Six years and the only thing I’ve done is get older and dead. I’m tired of trying to save the world. And I don’t think I should have to for the rest of forever just because I’m the Slayer. At some point this has to become someone else’s job, right? Or am I just going to…have to do this. All the time. Never ending world saveage because I can? I don’t think I can live like that forever.”

There was a long, heavy pause as he studied her. She was fixated on a spot between them, her fingers dancing over the cotton of his shirt. He tried several times to make eye contact, but she didn’t respond. As though wanting to live was a crime. As though she should be ashamed.

“Look at me,” Spike said at last, his fingers going to her chin to direct her gaze upward. “Buffy, pet, look at me.”

She swallowed, then did so. And the uncertainty there was enough to break him.

“Sweetheart, you’re preachin’ to the bloody choir, here. You don’t need to convince me of anything.”

Her lip wibbled. “Really?”

“Hey.” He kissed her. “Of course not.”

“But you have a thing for slayers. If I’m not a slayer—”

Spike barked a laugh and cupped her cheeks. “Don’t go all toys in the attic on me.”

“Huh?”

“I got a thing for you, pet,” he said. “Mighty big thing, now that I mention it. And yeah, I’ve always been drawn to slayers. Figure now maybe it was because I knew you were out there.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “That’s lame.”

“Oi!”

“Like really lame. It’s sweet, but lame. And I’m serious. I don’t know how to not be the Slayer. And that’s part of it. But also what happens when there are other slayers called and you feel like—”

“Buffy.” He waited until she looked at him, then pulled her down for another kiss, this one more desperate than the last, because blast it, she had to believe him. When they pulled apart, he pressed his brow to hers, panting softly. “The wankers you’ve been with always made you feel like you’d never be good enough, is that it? That there was always something else—something more for them that wasn’t you?”

Buffy swallowed hard. “That sounds kinda familiar.”

“There will never be another girl for me, slayer or otherwise.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Not for fighting, which I feature we’ll do a lot of. Not for shagging, which we’ll do even more. Definitely not for loving, which I’ll never stop doing. You’re it for me.”

She smiled and her eyes sparkled. “I know. Logically I know that. But it’s…you might have to remind me every now and then. It’s hard to let go of that stuff.”

“If I have to tell you every sodding day from here till the end of time, I’m a happy bloke.”

Buffy grinned and kissed him, her fingers toying with his collar. “But I don’t want to be the Slayer forever. But I also don’t think I can turn it off, you know? So it’s…like there’s nothing I can do. I’m caught in the middle.”                 

“Bollocks.”

“Well—”

“Well nothing. You’re not caught in the bloody middle. That’s bollocks. Not if you get off your arse and do something about it. You don’t wanna do this? Fine. It’s not like you’re the active slayer, anyway. Baby, you’ve died twice.  _Twice_. You coulda cashed in and gone to Disneyland already if you’d wanted.” Spike shook his head. “I remember thinking the same thing when you first introduced us, too. Thinking that it was a bloody fool thing to keep on trying when you didn’t have to, especially since all slayers end up dead.”

“You thought that? In the chapel?” She arched an eyebrow. “When you were going to kill Angel to restore Drusilla?”

“Y’know, everything except the ‘restoring Dru’ part makes me sound like an all right guy, given what’s happened between then and now.” The remark earned another shoulder slap, but he didn’t mind because she’d done it with a grin. “And even then, at full power, Dru’s nowhere nearly as nasty as Angelus. She’s a bit loony and unpredictable, but—”

“Spike?”

He nodded. “Point?”

“It would be nice,” she agreed. “And without the mention of ex girlfriends, if I might…command.”

Spike smiled and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I just love seein’ you wear green, love. Think it might be my favorite color.”

“Your favorite colors are red and black and you damn well know it.”

“For wearin’, sure. For looking at? Green all the way, baby. Especially on you. Your eyes…like when they light up right before you—”

“SPIKE!”

“Yeah. Do that, now that you mention it.”

Buffy grumbled in annoyance, her head rolling back. “Yeah, we’re  _so_  going to fight a lot.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. Teasing her was a delight he would never give up. “I remember wondering why you didn’t quit, other than the need for a spot of violence, which you could’ve gotten anywhere. That’s something you’ll always crave, ‘specially now that you’re like me. But the reason you didn’t quit is because you couldn’t. Because that was all you knew, and at the time, all you had a chance of knowing. I respected you for that. Not many people could be offered a free ticket out of something like that and not take it. But you’ve done your time. It’s gonna end up destroying you if you keep to it like you were before…before all this happened.” A wry grin stretched his lips. “But the irony, of course, is that you can’t  _not_  do good. You see someone hurting and you wanna help.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” she said. “It’ll never end because  _that’s_ always there.”

“And that’s not a bad thing, love. It’s what makes you who you are.”

“But if I want—”

“It’s not  _all_ of you, Buffy. Never bloody has been. So yeah, quit if you want, but I don’t think you do. Not where it counts. I think what you want is to call the shots. To do it because it’s your choice and not your calling. And that’s what it is now.” He smiled and palmed her cheek. “You are a beacon of pure light, and when you see others wandering in the dark, you wanna help them. You wanna share what you got. And you do—you share and share without realizing they’re not giving back to you. That’s where the rest of the rot comes in. You save them, and they bloody leech off you so much that light of yours is in danger of winking out. I don’t want who you are to kill your spirit. You’re so much better than the rest of this bloody awful world and you deserve to take something back out of what it’s taken from you. So yeah. Save the world, because you will. But it doesn’t have to be all you are. It’s not all or bloody nothing. You’ve earned the right to decide where your life goes.”

Buffy looked at him a long, silent moment, then glanced down, a hard sigh riding off her lips. “That sounds wonderful. And terrifying. But what if I can’t do both? What if I’m…not able to be both vampire and vampire slayer and perma-girlfriend of Spike?”

That was it. Spike tugged her closer so that her breasts were flush against his chest, her eyes all he could see. “You’re not anything less than what you are. Who you are. Sod the Slayer—you’re Buffy Summers. The woman. You’re just closing one book of your life and getting ready to open the next. We’ll make the third the longest…” He leaned forward and teased her with his mouth, seeking her lips in a sweeping, sensual kiss. “And the best. We don’t need to know the steps now, baby. We’ll figure them out together. If I have to lasso the bloody moon for you, I’ll see to that.” He smiled, captured her tear as it trailed down her cheek. “I’ll make you happy, Buffy. It’s all I want to do from now until dust.”

The way she looked at him now made him reevaluate everything he’d ever known or thought he’d known about love. It was so open and honest, so raw. It was unlike how anyone else had ever looked at him, and it shook him to the bloody bone.

Finally, hoarsely, she said, “You already do.”

Spike shivered and crooned. “Sweetheart,” he replied, “we’re only gettin’ started.”

“I know.” A pause. “This thing with Glory is unavoidable, isn’t it?”

“Well, that depends. Depends on how you treat what you know.” He ran his hand up and down her arm. “I want to take you away. From here, from the Hellmouth. Give you something you haven’t had. This thing with Glory is unavoidable only if we let ourselves get cornered.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m gonna have a little chat with Rupert,” Spike replied simply. “Been mullin’ it over with what we learned at Caritas. Think there’s only one way to fight this.”

She perked up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wanna run it by you, though. It’s not like something we’ve done before.”

“If it keeps the world turning and Dawn safe, I’ll go for anything.”

He kissed her. “Was hoping you’d say that.”

*~*~*

Spike had just made himself comfortable in the Watcher’s flat when the door edged open. He watched as Giles fumbled with the light, and took a moment to enjoy the yelp of surprise that touched the air once he found it and realized he wasn’t alone.

“Spike,” he said as others might say  _Chlamydia._ “Of course. I knew there was something I was forgetting. Joke’s on me, I suppose, for sending Willow home before she could perform the disinvitation ritual.”

Spike snickered and raised the tumbler of Brandy he’d poured for himself. “Nice to see you, too, mate.”

If possible, Giles went even more rigid. “To what do I owe the extreme displeasure?”

Ah. So that was how it was to be.

“Simple. I want you to do something for me.”

There was a long beat. Then Giles laughed.

Hard.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said a moment, still gasping. “My hearing must be failing me. I could’ve sworn—”

“Stop playing dumb with me, Rupes, and get off your high horse. When I say I want you to do something for me, you’re automatically to assume I mean me and Buffy, understand?” Spike rose to his feet slowly, polishing off the rest of his drink. He allowed himself a second to enjoy the astonishment on Giles’s face. The lot of the Scoobies had forgotten that he wasn’t a bloke to fuck with. Gotten complacent because of the chip, fooled themselves into thinking he was harmless.                                                                                                                                           

That ended here.

“Once more,” Spike continued, “you’re gonna listen. You’re gonna listen, then you’re gonna do as I say. You got it?”

Oh, Giles got it, all right. And he didn’t look happy about it. The Watcher all but thundered forward, his face contorted into the closest thing Spike wagered the bloke had ever come to a snarl. “Why you pompous little ingrate, who the hell do you think you are?”

“I am William the Bloody,” Spike replied, voice calm. If anything, the fact that he wasn’t screaming seemed to piss the old man off even more. “I’m the killer of two slayers and the lover of one. And if I wanted, I could rip your head off without a flinch. So you bloody well will listen.”

At that, Giles’s face fell slack. He swallowed.

“The chip?”

“Long gone.”

“Buffy—”

“Knows. And she still loves me. Imagine that.” Spike cocked his head, moving to the counter where he had placed the bottle of Brandy. He refilled his tumbler at his leisure. “First things first, let’s get over that. The Slayer loves me, I love her. Very much. We’re together, we’re blissfully happy, and that’s the way it is. Case bloody closed. That’s why I’m gonna give you a second chance to be nice to me, mate. I know how much you mean to her. And there are even times when I think you’re an all right bloke.”

“Oh yes,” Giles retorted. “You speak on behalf of my Slayer. The same you managed to—oh, what was that? Right. Get sired. I’m sorry if I’m not following your word too closely there, William. You see, your track record isn’t something I’d brag about.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not your slayer, mate. Not anymore. For that matter, she’s not Sunnydale’s slayer. She doesn’t belong to your Watcher’s Council or your bleeding cause. Hell, she doesn’t even belong with me.”

“I’m glad we agree on that much.”

“Though I like to think of her as a little more mine than anyone else’s.”

“Spike—”

“But that’s beside the point. I’m here because we both love her very much, and we both want what’s best.”

“I have no desire to hear your version of ‘what’s best’.”

Spike growled, shook his head, and allowed his fangs to descend. Maybe the wanker would listen to him now. “Ask me how much I care. Here’s the deal. I want you to take Dawn, Joyce, Red, Glenda, and Harris, and leave.”

“If you think—”

“Buffy and I are leaving too, with Wright’s kid. Soon as bloody possible. And we’re not coming back for a long time.”

The way he spoke left no room for argument. This was just a head’s up. It was not a matter to be negotiated. It was the way it was going to be. Case closed.

“All right,” Giles said shortly. “All right. You have my attention. Why?”

“Because if we don’t, Glory will win.” Spike waited a beat for the words to sink in. “You know it. You knew it last night when you gave off that spiel about our defense tactics. The same that are buggered either way you go. You know it because of what the Council told you.”

There was no denying that. Giles finally relaxed and looked down. “We discovered…many things about Glory while we were in England.”

“I’d imagine so. You had a lot of time.” Spike shifted and turned to lean against the counter, reaching for his cigarettes and lighting up without waiting for permission. And to his credit, the Watcher didn’t call him on it. “I found out some things too. Buffy and I sang at this demon bar in LA. The one I told you about.”

Giles nodded. “Yes. The one with the empath demon. And he read you?”

“Yeah. He told Buffy to avoid doctors and towers…whatever that means. He told me something different. Something I haven’t shared yet.” The vampire drew in a long breath, tapping the butt of his fag and watching the ashes as they sprinkled the ground. “It’s not important, I guess, and I’m not sure who he read it off. Might’ve been a combo of us both.”

“What is it?”

Spike met Giles’s gaze and held. “She was gonna die. Even if everything that happened hadn’t happened, she was gonna die. All final like. Lorne…he…he told me not to blame myself for what happened. Said it was gonna go down like that anyway. Said even if… There’s nothing we could’ve done to prevent her dying.” There was a lengthy silence and he shivered, the thought uncovering emotions he wanted far and buried. Seeing her dead was one thing. Having her like this was something else.

He had already seen her dead once and would never let that happen again.

“You know it’s the blood. How Glory will activate the Key.”

Giles nodded, looking somewhat thunderstruck.

“How I figure it, Buffy and Dawn match up on the DNA level, despite whatever mojo those wanker monks punched the Nibblet with. The Slayer was gonna—”

“Be the Key.” A long breath hissed through the Watcher’s lips. “I think I need a drink.”

“Right there with you.”

Spike poured. Giles drank. Spike poured another.

“Cheers,” Spike toasted.

It took a minute for Giles to gather his bearings. The Watcher wiped his mouth solemnly, shaking himself to his senses. “And now? Now with… With everything that happened, what now?”

“Now she’s a vampire,” Spike replied. “She can’t play that part. But that doesn’t stop others from stepping up to the plate. Glory gets her Key. Either the Nibblet dies or Joyce dies and we’re not gonna let that happen. Buffy’s taken to being a vamp like nothing I’d’ve thought, but if she loses kid sis or her mum to this… I don’t wanna see what that’d do to her. Neither do you. Glory needs the Key to be in Sunnyhell. Best way to beat her is to make sure we’re on the other side of the bloody planet, savvy?”

Giles gave another of those numb nods and polished off his drink. “There’s no way to stop Glory,” he said.

“Which is why you gotta take the Nibblet, Joyce, and the others and get the fuck outta Dodge. Once Glory’s window closes, we’ll figure out what to do next.” Spike expelled a deep breath and poured himself another drink. “Chances are, you risked too much in comin’ back at all.”

“I…we had to.”

“I know. But it’s time to leave again.”

There would be no more dispute. The Watcher nodded. And that was that.

“Where will you take Buffy?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Back to Los Angeles?”

Spike shrugged. “Haven’t decided. We’ll head back there initially. Gotta to drop the tyke off.”

Giles frowned. “The girl? Rosalie?”

“Zangy had to leave. Cordy got sucked into an alternate dimension, so he headed back to play search and rescue.” The vampire offered a smile he didn’t feel. “Duty, honor, and all that.”

“And you wouldn’t consider going with us?” Giles paused. “Y-you and Buffy, of course.”

“I knew what you meant.”

“And?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Think about it. I’m not exactly Mr. Popularity with the Scoobies. The last thing Buffy needs is to be lectured on the choices she’s made. The last thing I need is a bunch of reminders about how unworthy I am of her. I already know that, mate. I’m just lucky she doesn’t care.” A sigh rolled off his shoulders. “And I’d like to give her something she hasn’t had a in a good, long while.”

“And what would that be?”

He shrugged. “A vacation.”

“A what?”

“Time away from the Hellmouth that’s not being used up in torture miles. Time to make some of the bigger decisions we got comin’ up. We’ll be back…eventually. Right now, though, it’s just us. She loves her mates a lot, but she has things to work out.”

“And time alone…with you…will help?”

“Well, let’s think about who’s spending an eternity with who.”

Giles shook his head. “I still cannot believe you stole sunlight from her. Regardless of…the circumstances, a girl like Buffy needs sunlight.”

“A woman like Buffy needs a life, Rupes, and crazy as it may sound, that’s just what I gave her. In the end, it’s this or the other. You’d know what I’m talking about had you been there to see it. Angelus had done the deed—Zangy did what he thought he had to do, and now that’s over, I can finally say I’m glad.” Spike finished off his drink, stamped out his cigarette, and pushed himself off the counter to head for the door. “Anyway, it’s been fun, but I gotta fly. Stuff to do and what all.” He stopped at the threshold, not turning around. “We’ll be gone by tomorrow night.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need to because he knew what he’d see. Some means were meant to never be resolved.

And all things considered, that was fine by him.


	51. Dance with the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who's ever read my fanfic before knows I have a thing about claims. In that, I write them. I decided to play with the claim mythology a bit here to make it more canon-friendly. It may carry over into some other works. Not sure.
> 
> Also, the Latin's probably way off, but I think it gets the job done for what I need gettin' done.
> 
> Anyway, this plus the epilog wraps up a 2-month edit/revise project. I hope readers, new and old, have enjoyed the journey.

For long minutes, Spike stood in the doorway of Buffy’s room and watched her. She was sleeping soundly where he had left her. Thank fuck she’d managed to conk out. After the phone had awakened her, he hadn’t thought she’d be able to fall back asleep. And tomorrow was a travel day—one without the Desoto. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage it, but he’d come up with something. Plenty of cars around here to knick.

Except she wouldn’t like that. He smiled. Buffy was going to make him jump through endless bloody hoops to remain on the straight and narrow. Annoying as it was, he couldn’t bring himself to give a lick. Whatever she wanted was worth it.

Buffy was curled on her side, blankets pulled to her hip, barely covering the tank she’d chosen for nightwear. The covers showed off her curves nicely, and his mind did the rest. Knowing intimately now of what lay beneath those sheets. The lines of her body, the way she smelled and tasted. The way she clutched at his hair when he buried his tongue inside her. The way she melted when he kissed her. That soft, almost surprised sigh that rode from her lips when he impaled her on his cock.

All of that was his. All his.  _Fuck._

Not too long ago, he had arrived at his crypt and found Darla waiting for him. Not too long ago, Buffy had bristled at his attempts to get close to her. Not too long ago, his world had shattered. Not too long ago, he had left Sunnydale, unknowing what awaited him. Unknowing that the closest allies he would ever know would be found in a hotel that was leased to the one man in the world loathed more than Riley Finn. Unknowing that a demon hunter stalked the city looking for revenge, and that that man would become the first real friend he’d had since his boyhood.

Spike had gone with one thought: to get Buffy back. He hadn’t known how and he had never entertained the delusion of making friends on the way. Above all, he’d never thought that this would be the sight at the end of the road. That he’d stand in a room he’d wanted to be in more than he could ever say, watching the woman he loved sleep, knowing that he was not only welcome to join her, but expected.

He kept waiting to wake up, and it never happened.

Sooner or later, he wagered, it would hit home that this was real. But not tonight.

Spike drew in a deep breath and inched inside the room, his eyes never leaving her. Without really knowing he meant to do it, he knelt at her bedside and began stroking her face with his knuckles. Maybe he wouldn’t get used to this. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe being in awe of her was what kept him from losing her. He didn’t know.

But she was here because she wanted to be.

Spike didn’t mean to awaken her—he really didn’t. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb her slumber. But her eyes opened all the same, like she hadn’t been sleeping at all, just waiting for him to cue her.

A smile crossed her face  “Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey,” he repeated, voice hoarse.

She stretched herself awake. “How long have you been home?”

“Just a few minutes.”

“Straight from Giles’s?”

Spike nodded, distracting himself with the strap of her tank. He fiddled with it for idle seconds before pushing it aside to kiss her soft skin. “We had a nice chat,” he replied. “He’s agreed to take the Nibblet and skip town.”

At once, her eyes flooded with relief. “He did?”

“Yeah. Hopefully, he and your mates will be gone by the end of the week.”

“Do you know where they’re going?”

He shook his head. “I don’t even know where  _we’re_  going yet, love. I’d assume they’ll head back to England, but with Rupert, you never know.”

She frowned, tucking a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. “You don’t know where we’re going? I just figured back to Los Angeles.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I thought it was what you wanted.” Her frowned deepened. “It is…isn’t it?”

“That doesn’t matter, sweetheart. Besides, Angel will be there. All ready and souled up.” He exhaled deeply and shook his head, running his hand up her arm to her shoulder, then back again. “I don’t rightly care where we go. We’ll need to drop by LA at some point, of course. Don’t really fancy bite size taggin’ along everywhere we go.”

“Why William! Why ever not?”

He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to tease her lips with a kiss. “’Cause I don’t like censoring my…everything.”

“You’re dirty.”

“Yep. You better clean me up.”

Buffy shook her head, grinning. “Nah. I like you dirty. Makes it all the more fun for me.”

“Well, cleaning me up is fun, too, way I remember it. And we could always get dirty again.”

A giggle touched her lips. “See? This is why I love you. You’re amazingly inventive.”

Spike felt a silly grin spread across his mouth. He leaned in to kiss her again. “Is that the only reason?”

“Nope. You’ve also got a really great ass.”

He barked a laugh at that. “You little minx.”

“I try.”

“You’re amazingly successful.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He claimed her mouth once more, but this time, the brief touch wasn’t enough. Not with her so close, his thoughts so raw. Not with the way she moaned and opened for him, her scent tickling his nose and about a thousand fantasies of fucking her in this bed flooding his mind with the sudden need of being realized.

In seconds, he had shed himself of duster and was battling her hands to the hem of his shirt. The fabric found the ground next to her discarded footwear and some discarded vampire tome. Then her hands were on his chest, teasing his nipples, skimming down his belly and  _oh yes,_ nearing his cock. When she failed to continue south, he released a whimper that had her grinning.

“You have a very lickable chest,” she informed him, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “Shall I demonstrate?”

Spike growled and fisted her camisole. “How much do you like this?”

“Not enough to save it. You might be hell on my wardrobe, but I can’t deny that watching you”—she gasped when he tore it down the middle and threw it aside—“do that is…really hot.”

He smirked and palmed her breasts. “Don’t tell me you fancy me ripping your clothes off unless you mean it, ‘cause it’s one of my favorite things to do.”

“Just leave me with something to wear in public.” She tipped her head back as his mouth found her throat. “Oh…”

Spike chuckled and kissed his way to her ear. “I’ve wanted to fuck you in here for years.”

“Y-years?”

“Mhmm.” He nipped at her lobe. “First time I saw you. Shoulda bloody known then. You were so fiery. So fucking hot. And then I saw you in action.” He pinched her nipples, then skimmed a hand down her belly until he had her cunt against his palm. “You were perfect and sassy and I wanted to push you against that wall. Scared the piss outta me ’cause you were the Slayer and I was very taken at the time, but that’s what I wanted. And I’d never wanted another woman before.”

She mewled and thrust her hips against him. “N-never?”

“I’m what you call a serial monogamist.” He bunched the crotch of her panties to the side to tease the seam of her pussy. “So imagine how much it pissed me off that yours was the face I imagined when I wanked off that night. You crawled into my head and I couldn’t get you to leave.”

“And…not to belabor the point, but you don’t think that’ll happen again?”

He pulled back and blinked at her. “That I’ll wank to thoughts of you? I know I will. Maybe not as much now, but—”

“No, that you’ll see some girl who’s a hot piece of ass and, even being a serial monogamist, want—”

Spike growled and kissed her. “Thing about me is I’ve never been loved, Buffy. Not like this. Dru liked me enough, loved me in her own way I suppose, but I was a bloody stand-in. Still woulda followed her till the end of the world then, but I always knew… I  _always_  knew something was missing. That I wasn’t what she wanted. Left a bloody hole, that did. And you filled that up.” He pressed his brow to hers. “I know you said you’d need me to tell you again and again so I’ll say it until you beg me to stop. I want you. Only you. Forever and sodding ever, you hear? This is everything. Nothing’s missing anymore. How I feel now… Love has never been like this for me.”

Buffy was still for a moment, searching him, then she offered a watery smile. “Me either.”

“I know the real thing when I have it. Told you as much, didn’t I?”

“I guess I worry because I thought I had the real thing once.” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “It wasn’t like this at all, but I thought it was… And it scares me that I could lose this too.”

“Except you can’t. Won’t.” Spike nudged her brow with his. “I wanted to be loved like this. Think it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I can tell you, if Dru had loved me like you do, a lot would be different. But I’m glad she didn’t. Can’t imagine my world without you and I don’t want to.” He sighed. “When I say it’s forever, I bloody well mean it.”

Buffy looked at him for a long moment. “I promise I’ll stop asking one day.”

“Ask all you want. I’ll never get tired of telling you how much I love you.”

“You say that now, but I’m all with the insecurities and insecurities are so not sexy.”

Spike grinned and dipped a finger inside her. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck each one of them right out of you.”

She swallowed. “That…that might take a while.”

“Turns out,” he said, dragging that finger to her clit, “I got all the time in the bloody world.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Buffy rolled her head back, spreading her legs for him.

“Just nice?”

“I… Spike, can I ask you something?”

He paused and drew his head back, brow furrowing. “You seem pretty bloody intent to not get well and shagged tonight. Not gonna work, you know. Got those fantasies I mentioned.”

Buffy smiled, and it was a shy, disarming smile that made him fall in love with her all over again. “I just… I was reading. About vampires. When you were off with Giles.”

Spike arched an eyebrow, looked at the book he’d stepped over to get to her, still open on the floor. “About vampires. Because you know so bloody little?”

“What I know was as the Slayer. I was reading for…well, not being that.” She looked away, squirming a little. “Because I have this shiny new perspective and I’ll have to actually deal with it at some point. But the book I was reading mentioned, uh, relationships.”

He waited.

“Between vampires. Who love each other. A-and want to make things permanent. Like…uhh…” Buffy pressed her lips together again, met his eyes but couldn’t seem to maintain contact. “I-if you wanted to…be connected, or…”

Warmth spread through his chest and for a moment, Spike thought his knees might go out. “You want me to claim you?”

“You don’t have to!” she blurted. “I mean, I know forever being forever and all and yes, I know we just hashed this out  _again_ but hey, joys of being me. I just think… I want that. With you.”

Spike moaned, cupped her cheeks, and attacked her with his mouth. Buffy sighed and melted into him, tumbling back to the bed and taking him with her. Every part of him sparked with new life and hope and so much love he thought he’d bloody burst.

“Buffy,” he rasped when they pulled apart. “Fuck… Of course I want that. Was gonna bring it up myself at some point, but I thought it might scare you.”

“Scare me?”

He nodded, trembling. “Forever bein’ forever and all.”

She searched his eyes, then grinned. “We’re a pair, huh?”

“Perfect bloody pair.” He pulled back so he could see her face properly. “We do this and you don’t get an out.”

“I don’t want one.”

“Just saying, we can wait or—”

“Do you want to wait?”

He shook his head hard. “But I will,” he said. “As long as you need…to be sure.”

He didn’t know what it was—his words or the fact that he was letting his own insecurities shine through, but the smile that broke across her face told him everything he needed to know. Everything he’d ever wanted and then some. It seemed too perfect to be real, but the certainty in her eyes was unshakeable. Buffy wanted him, really wanted him, forever.

“Do you know the incantation?” she asked. “I, uhh, couldn’t find it in that book.”

Spike grinned, feeling drunk and giddy. “Memorized years ago. Wanted to be ready if…” But he didn’t say that. He didn’t want to bring up Dru again—not now. Because Dru had never been his and thank fuck for that. She had no place in this room with them. “I know it, love.”

“So…can you show me how?”

He nodded hard, skimming his trembling hands up the length of her arms. “Buffy…” he murmured against her lips. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I know.” He dipped his head to her throat and began dotting soft kisses along her skin, his hips thrusting forward so his denim-clad cock was pressed to her center. He relished the sharp gasp that erupted from her.

Then she pulled back, her face scrunched in an adorable scowl. “You’re still wearing pants.”

He looked down as though to confirm this. “Seems I am.”

“Take them off.”

Spike grinned and kissed her, then pulled back to do just that. Except her legs closed around his waist, holding him to her.

“Uh, pet?”

“Stay.”

“Plan on it, but if you—”

Buffy reached between them and, after making sure to run her hand over his erection as many times as she could, he was sure, popped the buttons at his fly open. “I have a thing about undressing you.”

“You asked me to take them off and now you—”

“I said ‘take them off.’ I never said you were supposed to do it. I was informing you what I planned to do.” She reached inside his jeans and found his cock. “See?” she said with a slightly goofy smile. “Stay.”

“Stay,” he agreed thickly, reaching between them to tease her pussy again. Spike rubbed along her slit, nudging her clit with his knuckles every time he got close. Then he pressed two fingers inside her and hissed when she clamped down around him.

“You’re perfect,” he said. “My perfect.”

“Oh…” She mewled and rolled her head back. “Fingers good.”

“Uh huh.”

“Penis better.”

He barked a laugh. “That a hint, Slayer?” He was playing with her now, slipping his fingers out of her cunt and drawing circles against her clit, giving her just enough to make her beg for more but never touching her properly. And his girl came unwound. There was something about her like this that made him become everything he was made for, and it had nothing to do with pride or the gloating knowledge that he could render the strongest person he knew into a gasping woman who craved his touch. It was everything about the other. That she was strong enough to make it to this point. Strong enough to know that conceding that control had nothing to do with herself and everything to do with them.

“I need…” she gasped. “I need you to touch me.”

“I am touchin’ you.”

Buffy mewled in complaint and whacked his shoulder. “You know what I mean!”

“Oi! Watch my frail man bones, love. After all, I’m only a vampire.”

“Then stop teasing me!”

Spike grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “But it’s so much fun,” he whispered seductively, circling her clit once more before nudging it with the pad of his thumb as his index finger slipped back inside her. “Is that what you wanted, baby?”

Buffy nodded, her eyes falling closed. “Yes,” she sighed. “Oh yes.”

“Just let me take care of you.” He swept his lips across her temple, pumping into her sweetly, hungrily watching as she frowned and moaned and arched every time he pushed back into her. One finger became two, then three as he pressed down on her clit. He played with her until she clutched at his biceps and gave way to her pleasure, sinking blunt teeth into his shoulder to muffle her cry of release. And though the sensation of her teeth in his skin had his cock about ready to burst, he managed to hold onto his control, focusing instead on the way her pussy squeezed him. With his free hand, he tugged on her golden hair, his lips brushing a kiss across her forehead. He held her to him her spasms began to subside, and she slowly returned to herself.

“I love your hands,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his neck, running her own down his arms.

Spike smiled. “They love you, too,” he replied. “As you would say.”

“I’ve started up a collection,” she said. Then she had him flipped over, his back to the mattress, the Slayer sitting on his hips. She favored him with a grin before her mouth found his chest and began wandering its way south.

“H-have you?”

“Mhmmm. Parts of you that I love.” She paused at the buckle of his belt, which she hadn’t undone earlier, and grinned upwards impishly. “Your ass and your hands have made the list, and I’m accepting applications.” As if to emphasize such a point, she swept her hand against his inner thigh. “Any suggestions?”

“Move up just a little and you’ll find out.”

Buffy arched an eyebrow and made short work of his belt. Then she brushed a kiss across the cock, which strained for freedom against his undone fly.

“Jesus!”

“Wrong name, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

A growl tore at his throat and he seized her shoulders, pushing her back so he could climb to his feet. “To hell with this.”

Buffy’s smile faded in favor of a frown. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I gotta get out of these pants before I embarrass myself.” His eyes swept over her hungrily. “It hasn’t happened yet, but I don’t wanna take any chances. Know you wanted the honors, but I can’t wait. You drive me wild.”

She blinked. Then she giggled. “Oh.”

The next few seconds were a blur of clothing. His jeans wound up on the other side of the room, and there was every possibility that one of his boots soared out the window. No sooner had he tackled her back to the bed, settling between her thighs and wrestling hot, desperate kisses from her mouth as his hands took path to explore every inch of her. He pressed his cock against her thigh and whimpered when she reached between them to take him into her hand. She wrapped her amazing fingers around him and began to pump, her movements shy but tender. Their time together had revealed that while she wanted to do everything she could to please him, physical intimacy made her nervous. Like she could do something wrong.

It didn’t matter what she gave. It would always be enough.

Her fingers brushed against the head of his cock and he rumbled into her throat. “Do that again,” he murmured, “and you’ll have a mess on your hands.”

“I could always lick it up.”

“Oh god, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Too late.” She kissed him again, squeezed him again, then shifted so he was poised at the mouth of her cunt. “Now, Spike. I need you now.”

He smiled and brushed strands of hair from her face, running his other hand down the length of her to spread her labia, fingers bathing in her juices. She used her grip on him to try to maneuver him where she wanted him, but he shook his head, moaning as she gripped him harder, but refused to pull his hand away from her cunt. That was until he was certain he had her on the edge again. Then he pulled away and sucked those fingers into his mouth.

She whimpered and he winked at her.

“You’re just asking for it.”

“You know it, baby.” He batted her hand from his cock, then pressed the head against her pussy. “And here it comes.”

Spike pinned her hands to the mattress beside her head, lacing their fingers as he began easing himself into her. Dual moans mingled in the air, and for a long beat, they were both still.

“Spike…”

He kissed her, tightened his grip on her hands, and pressed on until he was buried balls deep inside her pussy. Buffy’s eyes fell shut, her face contorting in a mask of pleasured pain as she worried her lip her lip between her teeth. In the catalog of expressions she made, this one found its place among his top ten.

“Is it always gonna feel like this?” she asked softly.

Spike’s heart flooded with warmth and he dipped his head to nuzzle her throat as he began to move in deep, sensuous strokes.

“I dunno,” he murmured, sliding his hands down her arms once more to caress her breasts. “What do you feel?”

“Everything.” Buffy gasped and arched off the bed, linking her arms around his throat. “You.”

He licked and nipped at her skin, indulging deep thrusts that had his insides singing. And she was there, her pussy hot and silky around his prick, hugging him so tight he wanted to cry. His movements were sharp and intent, escalating with need and want, coiled into one blissful package. She scaled him over and over, lifting her hips each time he pulled his cock away, her eyes never leaving his, letting him watch her writhe and whimper and move, his name a litany on her lips. She kept changing the rules on him, redefining beauty with each of those hot looks that burned him alive. The ones that were all want and love and so much more than anything he’d seen looking back at him.

A stifled sob tore from her lips. “Spike…” she whimpered. He still didn’t believe she realized the full of her influence over him. He wondered if she ever would. “Oh god…”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” He slid a hand down her abdomen again, seeking out her clit and feathered a ridiculously chaste kiss against her forehead. The air filled with her joyous gasp when his prying fingers began to stroke. “So much.”

“T-tell me…how. I want it.”

He nodded desperately, groaning when her slayer muscles contracted. God, she could play dirty. He loved it.

“Fangs in my throat, baby,” he said and whimpered again when felt her shift. He looked down, met her yellow eyes, and kissed along the ridges of her brow. “Just bite.”

It took everything he had not to spill inside her the second her fangs sliced into his neck, but for the yummy sounds she made and the pulls she took of his blood, he knew he only had a beat or so before it was over.

“Pull back now,” he groaned.

Buffy did so, and the sight of his blood on her lips nearly made him lose it.

“Repeat after me, okay?  _Et sanguis meus…”_

 _“_ _Et sanguis meus.”_

He shivered, the words he’d memorized so long ago sounding strange spoken aloud. Strange but bloody perfect. He’d never thought he’d get to say them, or have them fed back to him. And despite the certainty on her face, he worried she’d change her mind before he could complete it.  _“A_ _mor meus ligatum est.”_

She kept her eyes on his, no hesitation.  _“A_ _mor meus ligatum est.”_

 _“_ _Liga omnes nos…”_

 _“_ _Liga omnes nos…”_

He swallowed. This was it.  _“I_ _n unum ad tempus.”_

_“In unum ad tempus.”_

“Now bite me again and drink.”

She did, and that was it. Spike cried out and came. He clamped a hand around hers, pounding into her as his cock jerked and filled her. Thank fuck she was coming too. Strangling him with those muscles of hers, milking him for all he was worth.

 _“_ _Mea_ _.”_

 _“_ _Mea_ _.”_

“Oh fuck yes,” Spike moaned. “ _Tuus. Tuus tuus tuus tuus._  Yours, baby.”

Then he seized her shoulders and held as he felt the beginning of the bond seal in place. A ripple ran through him, and he had never known an instant of greater joy.

That was, of course, until the next instant when she tugged his head to her own throat and nodded against his mouth. His ivory fangs impaled the alabaster at her throat, and he drank her ambrosia.

 _“Et sanguis meus amor meus ligatum est. Liga omnes nos in unum ad tempus.”_ He bit her again, felt her come again in a rush and whimpered as her blood coated his tongue.  _“Mea.”_

She shook hard, clutching at his head.

“Now you say  _tuus_ , love.”

Buffy gave a trembling sigh.  _“Tuus.”_

And that was it. He felt her shudder again, the air around them charging, and something locked into place. He knew she felt it too for the way her eyes widened, her mouth forming that perfect  _O_ that he would spend an eternity worshiping _._ He’d always wondered how a claim would feel—if he’d feel anything different at all—but now that he had it, all he could wonder was how the bloody hell he’d lived before now.

The moment she accepted of him was the richest of his existence. There. More than lovers. More than man and woman. More than vampire and slayer.

So much more.

He felt it pounding in his blood. In his throat and heart and arms and legs. Everywhere, he belonged to her. And she belonged to him right back.

And he wanted to bloody cry because it had taken him so long to get here. But with her hand in his, his blood in her mouth and hers in his, there was nothing he couldn’t conquer. She’d given him a world of beauty when before he’d only known destruction, and that meant everything.

This, what they had, was forever.

And forever began now.


	52. All Roads

_Three weeks later_

“And here I was worried I’d left you without wheels,” Wright said as Spike exited the mustard-colored Olds he’d managed to talk off the hands of a metal scrapper. “But seriously, what is it with you and fossils?”

“Fossils got character,” Spike replied, only to be barreled over by an extremely excited Rosalie as the girl made tracks for her old man.

“You would know,” Buffy agreed, coming around the front of the car to wrap her arm around him. “Y’know. Being a fossil and all.”

Spike growled and nipped at her mouth. “Quiet, you.” He looked up, unable to keep himself from grinning. “So…adventures in Pylea?”

“It’s a long story,” Wright replied. “Let me get the kiddo all tucked in. Cordelia—”

Came bursting out of the hotel doors the next instant. “Zack!” she snapped, slapping his arm. “You were supposed to tell me when they got here.”

“They literally just pulled up!”

“That’s no excuse.” She ran over to Spike and took him in a bear hug that would have suffocated a normal bloke, then turned to give Buffy the same treatment. “Wow, you guys look…” She shook her head. “Thank god you don’t have a soul to lose, because I doubt we could keep it in you for long.”

Spike smirked and brushed his lips across Buffy’s temple. “Got my soul right here, point of fact.”

“Ugh. You’re  _still_ in this phase?” She rolled her eyes but looked anything but annoyed. “It’d be really gross and I’d be mega with the jealous if I didn’t have—”

“Cordelia!” Wright snapped, nodding to his daughter. “Remember. PG-13 from this point on.”

“Like  _they_ were PG-13.”

“Hey,” Buffy protested.

“We were good,” Spike agreed. “Didn’t so much as snog when she was in the room. Ask Rosalie if you don’t believe me.”

Wright looked at his daughter, who shrugged. “They were good.”

“How much did Spike give you?”

“Fifty bucks.”

“Oi!” Spike yelled. “Conditional on you keeping your mouth shut.”

“You never said that,” Rosalie replied.

Wright shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You and me are gonna have words,” he told Spike, but there was a grin on his face as he steered his daughter into the hotel.

Cordelia turned to follow, then looked over her shoulder. “Are you guys coming in or what? We have a  _lot_ of catching up to do.”

Turned out that was an understatement. No sooner had Spike nodded at Wesley and Gunn did Cordelia plunge into her adventures in Pylea. How she had gone from slave to royalty, been courted by something called the Groosalugg—a famed creature who had turned out to be a hunka man of burnin' love to light her fire.

“He was some nice man-candy, I tell no lies,” Cordelia said, fanning herself. “But so not my type.”

Spike laughed and eyed Wright, who had returned from tucking in Rosalie about halfway through the tale and was now fidgeting uncomfortably. "Right."

"Plus Zack threatened to rip his head off and feed it to Angel."

It surprised Spike how little the mention of Angel affected him. He felt Buffy stiffen and looked at her, but when she smiled and mouthed that she was fine, he nodded because he could feel she was.

"Man," Gunn piped from where he was reclined against the check-in counter, shaking his head. "You vamps are ugly as sin when you're all bumpy in Pylea. I thought seein' Angel in sunlight was wiggy enough."

"Did the lawyer end up goin'?" Spike asked to get the topic off the grand wanker.

"Nah. He's been whoring all his credentials to a bunch of law firms that are hungry for former Wolfram and Harters, especially since it's so unheard of," Cordelia replied, shrugging. "Last I heard, he got a helluva deal and a—like—thousand digit income. I think Kate was helping him move into his new place this weekend."

Buffy frowned. "Whoa. Slow down. Rewind. That's nice and all, but…what's this about sunlight?"

Cordelia’s eyes widened. "Oh, right. Apparently, some of the rules in Pylea were breakable."

"But trust me," Wright said, holding up a hand. "That was the only bonus. The place was irreversibly fucked up."

Gunn nodded. "Yeah. Imagine it. They made Cordy supreme ruler."

Wesley stifled a snicker.

"Then," Cordelia continued after sending Wes and Gunn matching death glares, "there was this thing where they were trying to storm a castle so Angel challenged Gru, because he was the king warrior or whatever."

"Excuse me." Zack arched a brow. " _Who_  challenged Gru?"

"Angel did. Then you challenged Angel's challenge because you've got a white armor complex, and you two ended up beating the crap out of each other."

Spike sent a beaming smile to Wright. "That's m'boy."

"Shut up."

He hesitated, looked to Buffy again, then decided to get it in the open. "Speakin' of the giant sod, didn’t see him in the welcoming committee."

Cordelia snorted. "Yeah. Zack and Angel can barely be in the same room together. Add you to the mix and…well, let's just say I don't exactly want World War III to be here. We have enough to deal with."

Spike nodded his thanks.

Buffy swallowed audibly, squeezing Spike’s hand tighter. "Where is he?"

"Caritas," Wesley replied. "Nikki insisted on going with him."

Gunn shrugged. "Told you the girl was gonna fall head over."

"I think it was more an excuse to stake him while we're not looking," Wright said.

Spike smirked. "And I'm even beginnin' to like Nikki."

Cordelia waved a hand dismissively. "More likely, it was an excuse to get out of the hotel. Ever since we got back, she and Wes have been splitting 'Fred duty'."

Spike and Buffy exchanged confused glances.

"Fred…?"

"Oh, didn't we tell you?" Cordelia asked. "Fred's the girl from my vision. Well, Winifred, I should say. The one that was sucked into Pylea. We found her and brought her back with." She voice lowered conspiratorially. "She's kinda loopy."

"She has a bizarre affinity for tacos," Wesley added. "But she's fascinating. Her mind is…once she pieces everything together, I daresay she will—"

"Word of advice," Gunn intervened, rolling his eyes. "Don't get him started."

"He has a bit of a crush," Wright added with a cheeky grin.

The former Watcher frowned as though affronted, flushing. "I most certainly do not. My interest in her is purely…scientific."

"Yeah." Gunn snickered. "His next scientific 'experiment' will likely involve modeling in a string bikini, just to see if she remembers how they fit."

Spike chuckled and shrugged. "Well, if it works, it works."

"Do we get to meet her?" Buffy asked, turning her eyes to the upper levels of the hotel as though the girl would appear on suggestion alone. "I mean, she sounds…ummm…interesting, and… Do we get to meet her?"

The group exchanged a series of looks.

"Fred doesn't come out of her room unless she wants more tacos," Gunn said. "It's dark and cave-like. She feels safe there."

"Besides, people she doesn't know might wig her out," Cordelia added. "Maybe some other time."

"Yeah. We'll drop in." Spike smirked. "I gotta make sure Zangy treats you right and everythin'."

Wright snickered. "So, you two are off, then?"

Spike turned his attention back to Buffy, smiling. "Yeah. You know…places to go, people to avoid. Rooms to…break in."

"Loudly," Gunn added. "I definitely remember the loudly."

Buffy flushed and whacked Spike across the shoulder. He just grinned wider.

"Any idea on where you two might stop first?" Wesley asked.

"I'm trying to talk her into Vegas. She doesn't seem to be goin' for it."

"Good girl," Wright agreed, wide-eyed. "Stay away from Vegas. They have some freaky-ass demons there. Go somewhere nice and boring."

"Canada?" Cordelia volunteered.

The hunter shook his head. "Yeah. If they wanna be up to their ass in soul-snatching uglies, fine."

Spike raised a hand. "Don' have a soul."

"Well, I do," Buffy replied. "And I'd kinda like to keep it."

"Then don't go to Canada."

She shrugged. "Our game plan right now is to drive around and do whatever suits us."

"Which means they'll get as far as the backseat," Gunn said with a grin.

"Charlie! My lady and I can hear you, y'know." Spike paused thoughtfully. "Besides, that's bloody dangerous, what with the sun and all. Even in my car. We'd at least need to make it to a broom closet."

Wright shook his head again. "I shudder to think of what all you told my daughter."

“Nothing ten to fifteen years of extensive therapy can't fix," Buffy assured him.

"Ummm, if I may," Wesley said, "with all the child has seen, if she hasn't needed therapy yet…"

"Point taken."

Then it was time for goodbyes all over again. Spike expelled a deep breath, determined not to make a big deal out of it. After all, goodbye was only goodbye for a little while. He and Buffy would return. Now they had nothing holding them back. No obligations to tend to on a whim.

It was a fantastic revelation.

As though sensing his thoughts, Cordelia moved to give him another hug. "Well," she said slowly. "Don't be a stranger."

"Don't worry, pet," he replied. "The lot of you aren't anywhere near rid of me."

"Lucky us," Gunn drawled. When he earned a narrowed glance in turn, he shrugged. "You know you'll be missed, bro. I just don't do hugs."

"Understood."

Wesley stepped forward to shake their hands in turn. "Best of luck," he told them earnestly. "You know you two always have a room here."

"Don't worry," Buffy replied. "We'll be taking you up on that."

"Excellent."

There was another awkward pause. Spike met Wright's eyes and offered a weak smile. He owed the other man more than he cared to admit, and he never left a debt unpaid.

At last, Wright stepped forward, reaching into his pocket. "Here. I need to give you something."

Something pressed against Spike's palm. He glanced down curiously.

"What's this?"

"It's a cell phone."

Spike rolled his eyes. "I can bloody well see that."

"Then why did you ask me?"

"I meant, 'What's this and what's it doin' in my hand,' and I thought you'd be smart enough to suss that out for yourself. I was wrong."

The group snickered. Buffy whacked his arm again. And life was good.

Wright shook his head. "Just use it, all right? Call…and stuff." There was an awkward pause. "Besides…" A wicked grin spread his lips. "We set up the account so that Angel will receive the bill. So don't hesitate for something long distance."

Spike smirked in turn. "Outstandin'." With a nod of gratitude, he pocketed the phone, then reached out to shake his friend's hand. "Zangy…" He drew in a deep breath, considering his words. "Take care of your tyke and don't die. Oh, and if you hurt Cordy, I'll rip your throat out."

Wright nodded, a dry smile painted across his face. "Don't die, and if you hurt Buffy, you won't be around to regret it."

They nodded their understanding. And that was that.

Spike didn't speak again until he and Buffy were in the Desoto, adjusting seatbelts. "So, love," he drawled. "You got anywhere in particular you wanna head? I hear Paris is lovely this time of year."

"Isn't Paris lovely all times of the year?"

He shrugged. "I'm sure there's an off-season in there somewhere."

Buffy frowned, nibbling on her lower lip. "I'm not really in a Paris mood," she decided after a minute.

He smiled. Trust her to not be in a Paris mood when she’d never been to bloody Paris. However, he would not argue. They had time for everything.

"Fair enough. Italy's lovely, too. I’m particularly fond of Rome, though I've heard it’s gotten even filthier than it was the last time I was there." He tilted his head in consideration. "Or if you wanna stick close to home, no place like New York, New York.”

"Actually, Spike…I kinda have something to tell you."

He immediately went rigid. There was something dangerous in her tone.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"Ummm…I kinda already made reservations somewhere." She flashed a weak smile and shrugged. "Sorry I didn't mention it before."

Relief rolled off his shoulders. She had the way of making the simplest things sound like the forthcoming apocalypse. "Oh. Is that all?"

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be?"

She shrugged. "'Cause I didn't tell you."

Spike arched an eyebrow. "You're tellin' me now, aren't you? That's good enough for me."

"Okay."

"So…where we headed?"

The Slayer bit her lip again and glanced down. "I got reservations at this hotel. Really big, historic, plenty of vacancies and the rooms looked fantastic the last time I was there." She glanced up slowly. "You see, the only problem is, it isn't an active hotel. It's sort've run by these—"

"Buffy…" He reached for her hand. "Are you…we didn't have to—"

"No, Spike. We really did." She smiled, and that sealed it. The world in one smile. "Now…go. Pop the trunk and get our stuff. The manager told me that if we hurried, he'd give us a grand tour."

Spike was still staring at her in wonder.

"And the best part is, I have a guarantee from the other manager's girlfriend that we'll be the only sunlight-deprived residents," Buffy added. “It was a condition of the stay.”

"No Peaches?"

"He owes us one, don't you think?"

There was another long, beat.

Then he smiled, reached across the seat and kissed her with more than love. He kissed her with everything that he was.

"Thank you," he murmured when they pulled apart.

"No," she replied softly, caressing his cheek with her palm. "Thank you. For everything." His expression grew poignant. And it was worth it. Everything was so worth it. "Now…get out. Go see your friends. This is your vacation."

"It’s our vacation, love. And those are our friends."

She smiled a watery smile. "Yes, they are."

Spike grinned and kissed her again, whispering a heartfelt, "I love you," before bounding out of the car.

This was it. This was right. This was everything. And it was only the beginning.

*~*~*

Buffy smiled to herself and followed, warmth flooding her whole. The look on his face had sealed it—this was the right decision. The best decision. The thing he deserved. How long they would stay, she did not know. For everything she owed, for the same she knew he would never ask for, no amount of time would ever be enough. But this was the way it should be. If not forever, for now would work.

She was here with the man she loved, and he was happy. He was happy. That meant the world to her.

And for that, she realized, so was she. Buffy Summers was happy. The concept finally grasped her, cornered her, made her realize exactly what she had. What she would always have forever and ever. How his happiness brought about her own. Today was only the first step of many. They had an eternity to explore.

_So this was love._ Accept no substitutes.

"Buffy?" Spike was at the doorway of the Hyperion, watching her with a concerned frown. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

She was more than all right.

"Yeah." She shrugged, going for casual. "I just love you, is all."

He warmed her with his smile. "Love you, too."

"Why haven't you gone in?"

"Waitin' for you."

There was so much he could do to her with words, and god, it made her ache to think of how she could have ever missed this. How close she had come to it.

How much he had sacrificed to get where they were now.

His eyes told her without a word that he would gladly do it all over again.

And the really amazing thing was, so would she.

Spike waited at the door for her, eyes bursting with everything he poured into each touch. He wore his emotions on his sleeves and didn’t give a rip that the world could see.

This man loved her, really loved her. And it was forever.

"You ready?" Spike asked before brushing a tender kiss across her forehead.

Buffy smiled. "Yes."

He nodded, and his fingers laced through hers. "Then, let's go."

And that was it. Hand in hand, they crossed the threshold.

Together.


End file.
